Mine

Mine

He has been working,

Working in this mine,

For a long time.

Teeth platinum,

Rings in his ears,

Showing out as if he didn't care.

Teachers lie, while the babies are crying,

They can hear the minor prying.

He is sick of life, sick of trying,

As an old man sits on a bench sighing.

He figures he'll dig himself to hell,

But can't figure out if he'll live long enough to tell.

He digs deeper, trying to see a light,

A light with a chance to fight.

Fight poverty and sickness,

Try to strive, try for repentence.

Among his peers, he kept on because he knew it was near.

And his day did come,

His shovel hit the dirt with a thud.

"It's over,"

He said, seeing the results of his labor,

At his side rested gold and silver.

By Stephen Webb