My Mined – A Poem

Source: Winchell, Alexander Sketches of Creation (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1870) 146

Awake my eyes, as the darkness unfolds,
Visions of euphoria come to a close,
Yawn at the Dawn, I put on my Clothes.

Source: Winchell, Alexander Sketches of Creation (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1870) 146

Goodbye to my devastated father I say,
Munch on stale bread like I do everyday,
Out of the tenements, I go onto the way.

The soot, parching the throat at its best,
Amidst the madness, the Civil unrest,
The cable, wires, kings of the mess.

O Mister Marx, my life ends here,
My spirit is taken down, my furthermost fear,
Yet happens a day or go will many rear.

Down to the mines, my very soul goes,
Into the cold shafts Lucifer holds,
Where we are going nobody knows.

The onerous burdens imposed return,
A sensation so deadly, flesh is to burn,
And only forty cents this hard work will earn.

Our freedom flies like a bird from a cage,
Filling our souls with repulsive rage,
Thy book calls for a revolutionary stage.

I wish I may, I wish I might,
Go on to another, more heavenly plight,
I envision it all, like thine own sight.

Beware Lucifer we will transcend,
And into the heavens our souls will end,
Into the heavens our souls will end.

This is a guest post by Avinash Joshi, Mission Viejo, California.

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