Our world runs on hard work The sacrifice of self, With no regard for safety, Dropped into the Earth to mine coal.
Generations of miners Uncles, fathers, grandfathers Rose from the mines, Their skin darkened by dust, not sun.
But who will take their place? As generations tire, The work remains, Yet no one volunteers to fall deep into the Earth.
Have we denied ourselves a workforce By coddling the young? They sit in gaming chairs, Lost in fantasy, where reality is not.
Unwilling to do the work of their fathers, They’ve seen the pain, Heard the cough, Watched lungs blacken with coal dust— In a society that turned its back on them.
And would I take that chance? I can’t blame them— I understand where they stand… or sit. They do not know the sacrifice of kin.