EPTElsewise I was as sitting in a place where losses
Filter down, a dozen at a time,
Waiting for nerfs to come. Harsh words were spoken,
As the zergs purple the green of Belshir Vestige…
So this build was all, but obscurely
I felt the stirrings of new units in the metagame
Which all winter long had smelled like old cheese.
New tactics were starting up. And my promotion
Was well along, almost past mid-masters
Almost great, and dark with the promise of that greatness
That league where one can no longer idle away.
Yet still even the most attentive fell silent
And watched the thing they've prepared for, still happen.
A bubble of glass stops you
And you micro back, unshaken: Was I scouted?
Did he notice me, this time, as I warp in zealots
Must I postpone? The marines
Sit in their bunkers, scvs repair with a swift
Patience near the natural's ramp. Then dissipate
As limping, I pull back.
And above the whirring of a pylon
Down here, for a moment, I see
The grand, fortified orbital scanning, orchestrated
In circles, concentrated in a glance, a painting
That takes in the whole world now, held tightly,
So tightly, with wide authority and tact.
"Oh protoss, those grey force fields falling?
They are nothing. You have limped on their crutch
Longer than partinG, and are none the stronger for it.
Come in." And I thought a shadow fell across the ramp
But it was only him dancing, and asking once more
If I was coming in, and not to hurry in case I wasn't.
The climb seems to be over. A new ladder appears, and taller.
I'd climbed to the center of masters, to fall.
Finally, I'd devolve to the business of practice
And a sigh heaves from all keys below my hands.
The forums, the vods, the old replays, and neglected hotkeys
Unlocked from a white cardboard box somewhere, along
With all the opponents I'd beaten, and brought out into equalizing light.
The ladder demands and takes away too much
But the victories, truly deserved and adrenalined, give more than it takes.
based off of John Ashbery's "As One Put Drunk into the Packet Boat"
