Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 8)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 8) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~

~

Hollowed by nature, hewn by hand,

This entrance with an arching span,

Spanned a space squat and wide,

Room aplenty to squeeze inside.

~

Tumbled boulders flanked both sides,

Sand lay strewn at whim of tides, yet,

Clear divide upon sea-bed,

Where rusting rail-tracks led.

~

Tho’ little remained of timber frames,

Columns of wood stood tall,

Below its mantle remnants dangled:

Derelict doors about to fall.

~

Tho’ dark and dingy I could see,

Inside the cave in front of me.

What little light infused deep grey,

Revealed a dismal passageway.

~

All this I saw with one quick glance:

An image blurred as if in trance,

Yet easily distracted, my eye attracted,

To where above the mine hung a sign.

~

In stark contrast to sand and sea,

Affixed to rock horizontally,

Painted in red, ‘Beware!’ I read.

‘Unsafe! Abandoned Mine!’

~

But time was pressing, lungs stressing,

My dilemma as yet unsolved.

With firmer resolve I renewed my haste,

Quickened my pull, upped my pace.

~

Pinewood slats where blockading doors,

Lay ruined upon sea floor.

Through this opening I scurried forth,

Hand-over-hand for all my worth.

~

A short way in the cable thinned:

Twas frayed to just one wire.

Diminished in size it began to rise,

Vertically higher and higher.

~

To sea-floor I threw my coiled line:

Gathered en route to the disused mine,

It weighted me down upon the ground,

 By its action aiding my traction.

~

But yet, it was this line about my limb,

Tightly knotted, chaffing skin,

Which bound me here inside this hole:

Too heavy to carry, swim and haul.

~

I stumbled forwards towards cave wall,

Felt gentle currents push and pull,

Hands took hold of slippery rock,

I climbed to where the wire stopped.

~

Stretching upwards, stood on toes,

Reaching where my line goes:

Inside a fissure formed in fractured rock,

Wherein it coiled about a box.

~

Tightly held, secured fast,

A box small in size, from metal cast.

Rusted, dusted but still intact,

Its casing complete, without a crack.

~

With urgent fumbling, rock-wall crumbling,

At last the box tumbled down.

It lay on sea floor where I could see more,

More of the box I’d found.

~ 

Still locked, bound, chained around,

Still tied with rotting rope,

I hurried my hand to find the lock,

Believing there was still hope.

~*~

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 7) precedes this post. Part 9 to follow shortly ~

~*~