Tightly

You go in the mine holding your light,
You want to look for a fight,
You know where to go,
but you know,
mobs and creatures hide,
and many have died.
You hold your pickaxe tightly,
while you shine lightly,
finally,
a fight begins,
with a strange creature that wins,
they say that day,
his name was Herobrine,
your last thing you held,
was your pickaxe,
tightly..
Category:Poems
Category:Creepypasta