Poetry Blog by Steven Dark (south wales)
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the Dust, the Dust
the Dust, the Dust
I remember the men,
their faces blackened with filthy coal
layers of carbon dust on skin,
slowly lining their lungs thick.
I think of them in the twilight,
two miles underground
hewing with axe and pick,
shirtless bodies glistening with sweat like morning dew
I see them coming home,
tired of the black
eyes like pissholes in the snow
unaccustomed to the light
and then,
and then their golden...
Wednesday 18th November 2009 3:18 pm
Recent Comments
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