Diary of a Coal Miner

Diary of a Coal Miner

When I walk, When I talk
I get so Amused
Music
Strewn like needle and thread
through my ears
Like the wind through a door screen
Black and Tarnished with years
Past
This is America
Land of the Free
Chained to these mines, the doors unlocked
but not for me
Bind us up and take me away
I realized with seasons past,
I’m not special…

A bit of jazz guitar to wash away a day
I hold on to the things that I did
When I was a kid
When I was a kid there were many
With one I am strong
I was one to believe that the grains of sand
didn’t start as rocks
They were put there for the tourists
Put there for me
Just touring the earth
Looking for the beauty in the trees
The beauty in the forest
The beauty in the birds and the bees
Couldn’t see the beauty in me
Couldn’t see the beauty in an old coal home
Couldn’t see the beauty in timber stents
and termite holes

The corner stone,
Where the old coal roam
This old coal town
With old coal faces
Lights on their heads, with old coal frowns

I am the glue that holds the plywood,
and trim boards together
Menial little letters
from somewhere
Local
Not here
Arriving within days to this house
for me it took me years
Long warm winter nights
Happy summer days
How ungrateful I was made
I wouldn’t have it any other way
Vacations aren’t get away’s they’re…
Shit, I just wish i could stay

Back to the same old coal town
With those same old coal faces
The same old coal frowns
Not yet
Take in the air
Take in the ocean, take in the breeze
The back of my eyelids is all I can see
I’m here, so far away from a care
A barstool is a meaningless concept
It’s just another chair

In my house there’s just another bed
Just another good nights rest
And on that beds pillow
Just another same framed head
Black with the day
Black from the wear and tear these modern coal
mines can put on a man
Black with that same screen door tarnish
It’s this that stuck to me
I could scrub till I bleed
Only if Zest could clean a soul
I’m not to old
Old enough to know
Better
Days come and go
Can’t forget that i have morals can’t forget
that I have goals
I never want to be normal

Just fit to live

An old coal man with a handful family
And a handful of kids
Living in a fixed up
Old coal home.

This was a piece I wrote for a poetry reading over the summer. Poetry is a great way for self expression. There is no better feeling then getting involved with something you love especially if it is writing. If you are interested seek out fellow writers in your town and/or area to get involved with your creative writing scene. 

 

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