Flickering lights, behind curtains drawn
A father and son, say a small prayer
Filling their lungs, With pure, fresh air
Clutching tins, of cheese and bread
Remembering friends, those now dead
Men who perished, deep underground
Where, black gold, could be found
Men and boys, walk down the street
Silence except, boots on their feet
Big wheels unmoving, waiting their prey
For brave miners, to start their day
A look of fear, in some boys eyes
Maybe the last time, seeing star lit skies
Into the abyss, down to blackened coal
Welcome to hell, this darkened hole
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This poem may not be copied by any means without the express permission of the author
This poem may not be copied by any means, without the express permission of the author