Miners Turn To Face the Cold

The mass production of coal is dead, Buried infer lamps carried on the head, Halogen miners sang the unforgiving dirge, With fragments of flaky particles emerge, Drilling hammers that smote the ground, Never again to hear its rumbling sound. Voices roar like dragons in damp vapour, Highlighted the dangerous drudgery caper. Its miners turn to face the cold idle breeze Lusty diggers of cave brought to their knees. Dust off running tears in nocturnal eyes Sparkled pay in dissonant redundancies. Tipping poison pouring out of their coat, Coals brightly burn diamonds in the heat. Hem and skirt tossed away in good wave, The blockade collapsing stairs of the brave. Sad hearts dramatically ending the way of life, Kiss the face pioneers abandon with cheek. Dirty power of bygone industrial revolution, The demise ends centuries of veiled tradition. Looks that is lost on the cloudy grey glare, Tunnels bearing signature of the slender tear. Tattoo rippled down on jagged wall mirrors, Romantic fires to stare at the mantle towers. Underground roads in loops of fuel suspended, Prison row of tombs lay silently on the cold bed. Rock fractals calling from cold depth of earth, Snuffed out the foggy union in oblivious wrath. Dripping tar brooms lay on the dormant floor, Once supplied daily ration meals for the poor. Now the pit is shut leaving the empty trucks, Pulling the souvenirs bearing burden buckets. Into the nostril part of murky breath exhale, Indifference steps crystallised among the stubble. Can we face climate change of clean living? In the beautiful candescent global warming.