3 result(s) for Miner Ming Gold Poems.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
The Nugget in Ming's Palm
Ming's hands are cracked like dry riverbed,
worn smooth by pick and rope and stone.
He lifts the nugget, dull at first,
then sunlight finds it, and it glows alone.
It warms against his calloused skin,
a small sun held in a miner's keep,
the weight of years poured into gold,
the ache of dark cut loose in light.
He thinks of home, of rain-soaked nights,
of daughters waiting by the door,
and for one breath the mountain's debt
seems paid in full, and nothing more.
The Silent Vein
The mountain keeps its gold in stone,
Where lantern light has never shone,
And every ridge stands cold and still,
A sentry sworn to guard its will.
Ming, with pick and patient hand,
Has walked the dark where few have planned,
He hears no voice in tunnel's deep,
Only the drip of water's keep.
The mountain speaks in breath of dust,
In shifting seams of ancient rust,
And still it hides what miners seek,
A silence heavier than the peak.
Yet Ming returns at break of day,
To strike the rock and kneel and pray,
For gold will yield to those who wait,
When mountains open at the gate.
Ming's Gold
Beneath the hills where shadows sleep,
Ming swings his pick through stone so deep.
The lantern flickers, dust takes flight,
He digs through dark to find the light.
Each stroke rings out in echoing song,
A miner's heart both brave and strong.
The rock gives way, the seams grow bright,
And gold gleams back through veins of night.
He lifts the nugget, warm and gold,
A treasure dug from earth's cold hold.
He smiles at dawn, his labor paid,
With gold that deep the earth had made.
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