From a Prospector’s Prospective

She made me feel like a collier

Digging deeper into myself

Finding wealth and riches I never imagined were buried there

Value in these old quarries.

Making regular coal into diamonds.

Turning the minerals that made me into a profit

Who kissed the earth she walked on

But it was a fleeting fickle feeling.

I was no collier.

For if I was, I would have had a canary

One that would have warned me of the toxicity around me

Of the poison that was seeping through my passages

Stemming from the hot air she blew.

She cared not for my coal

She was more fond of the gas lights overhead