My neighbor worked in the mines
in a town called Sheppton,
where heaps of blackness
covered the valleys and canyons
He was an excavating hero,
a prince of the middle earth,
deep, down into a hole
where you could only see
the whites of his eyes
He held his lantern high,
searching through ungrateful caverns,
down an anonymous coal chute
where basement’s blackened
with anthracite coal
Tracks winding down
into the tunnels
where cries echo from lost souls
Men like my neighbor,
suffer from weary lungs,
lies and dirty faces.
About the Poet
Mark Tulin is a former therapist who lives with his wife, Alice, in Santa Barbara, California. Mark’s books include Magical Yogis, Awkward Grace, The Asthmatic Kid and Other Stories available at Amazon. Mark has been featured in Fiction on the Web, New Readers Magazine, as well as anthologies and podcasts. Mark’s blog is at Crow On The Wire.
For the first time in nearly five years, Vita Brevis is closed for submission. Read the full story here.
Vita Brevis Press. 
This is wonderful poetry Mark! Well done!