He slid down the wet slate hill,
such a thrill.
Cried out with joy.
Like when he was a boy
playing with his favourite toy.
The clouds rolled in.
He looked back
up the track
to the rest of the crew
who threw themselves
with reckless abandon.
Down the slag heap,
past the sheep.
Who just looked and stared.
Long haired and scared.
Like ghosts from a bygone age.
Dark rain formed above the mountain.
Ready to burst like a fountain.
Down into the deep holes of pits.
Hundreds of metres
of grit and shit, moonlit.
They gazed in wonder.
Saw the rusty down ladder,
made them madder than ever
for the rage of adventure.
Careful now.
They crept through the gloom
of the aged heirlooms.
Mine train tracks and
fallen down shacks.
Iron workings thrust up through cloying tar.
Steel bars, metal jars and earthly scars.
Scattered all across the hills.
This place
once a fast hive of effort and industry.
Now silent.
Dark.
Foreboding.
Vast.
thejrpc 