The Church Bell
I live in a quiet country village now but as a child I grew up as part of a mining community .
This is my tribute to those wonderful people.
Slag heap as high as a mountain
Cobbled streets covered in grime
Every time the heavens open
Gutters turn to rivers of slime.
Terraced houses of depression
Broken men gasp for breath
The tolling of the old church bell
Announcing yet another death.
Women hardened to this life
Stop to pay respect
Tomorrow it might be their man
Death is something all expect.
Miners at the coalface
Toiled with shovel and pick
No respite from the torture
In seams just two feet thick.
15 years old and fresh from school
Their destiny was to be found
Lurking in the total blackness
Of a life spent underground .
Yet what hearts those miners had
They live forever in my memory
The drive, The caring , The passion
For all who lived in their community .
Those coalmines are long gone now
Be it for political or financial gain
Community spirit broken
Only shadows of the past remain .
Where once did proud miners dwell
Lie estates devoid of soul
Still the ringing of the old church bell
but no one to hear its toll.
Copyright © Darren Watson | Year Posted 2014
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