The Callous Miner Poem by James Mills

Time, the callous miner, gathers my hours,
Beats each shallow moment until it's bent
And pitted, fitted into lines and scars
That point behind to show the way I went.
Each mark and fold’s part of my episode,
A piece of a story - no choice of cast;
Life’s mettle traced and etched, a motherlode
To dig, unearthing what becomes my past.
What awaits, what’s there, can only be guessed,
The view to the horizon’s blurred, unclear
I’ll stumble on, unguided, to the test
With the miner’s breath rasping in my ear.
Grant, old digger, when I’m at last assayed
You find my worst is by my best outweighed.