lying here with nothing left but to reflect
on the things I have, and haven’t done yet
feel my body deteriorate, feel my illness advance
the things I’ve not done, now I won’t get a chance
different doctors I see, same questions they ask
I try to tell them through an oxygen mask
“how are you feeling, are you well
is the mask helping to breathe”. “It’s difficult to tell”
point to my chest as they ask, “is it your lungs”
but before I answer, the examination has begun
pyjamas top open, prodding with icy cold hands
talking in words I neither know, or understand
more x-rays, scans and blood tests
to see how my illness has progressed
then see the doctor, called in by a nurse
I can see by his face, my condition is worse
see his lips moving, don’t want to hear the words
can’t take it in, what I’ve just heard
as he looks at the x-ray, the shadows on the lungs
I knew then, that no more can be done
lying here, reminiscing about long lost better days
as the medication takes the pain away
hallucinating, dreaming, glassy eyed
thoughts turn back to my long departed bride
my childhood sweetheart, my guiding light
since she’s been gone, I’ve shed a tear each night
it’s many years, since up to Heaven she’s gone
lost without her, but for my family I stay strong
memories flood back, of my days in the mines
when my father took me, for my very first time
the first time in the bond, what a story to tell
told my grand-children “it was like dropping into hell”
at six o’clock in the morning, your day starts
as you walk to a place as black as the devils heart
the fireman tests, with a blue dim flame
for the presence of firedamp, or methane
into the coal face, a humid, damp, sweaty place
bent over, crawling, to a dark and cramped place
where your only friend, is the flickering light
of your cap lamp shining bright
the dust it engulfs you, like a black evil shroud
as you listen for sounds, for rumblings all around
while the perils of methane, is always there
invisible, tasteless, but deadly, so take care
my father said, “a days hard work never hurt me”
but there are men in the grave, who wouldn’t agree
good hard men, who worked their way into a tomb
mourning friends, thinking whose next to succumb
now laying on a bed, as the family gather crying
wheezing, gasping, tearfully watching me dying
a proud honest man, still full of fight
as the dust chokes out the last flickering light
final breath taken, no more suffering no more pain
then friends gather and wait in the howling rain
to say their final farewell
to a man who had so many stories to tell
see familiar faces, only seen on these sad days
getting fewer each time, as they slowly pass away
good colliers, who were also lifelong mates
together for the last time, at the graveyard gates
he’s back now with the woman he loved so much
the wife he missed, her kisses, her touch
up in heaven again they will meet
as at the pearly gates, she waits for him to greet
but not being a man to go quietly to his grave
a few words were written, by this man so brave
don’t mourn for me, as I’m not alone
and please put these words on my headstone
“when I die, don’t let the word spread
I’ll be in heaven, before the devil knows I’m dead
let him find out, as he reads my obituary
so he’ll tell his friends, “that soul should be for me.”
updated by @ralph-jones: 11/24/19 06:16:51PM