Chapline Hill Tunnel
We stumbled down the broken walk
Where roots of trees and leafy things
Pushed deep into the earth
As they are known to often do
Our destination, short at hand it seemed
Yet, hidden by the years
Corroded iron, set in parallel
That reigned in wooden teeth
Decaying, worn and crooked
And entrenched
Buried deep within the hillside
And carved into the stone
By the hands of men, machine, and will
The tunnel bared its soul
Its history determined
Long before I'd braved its depths
Its fate, it seemed, much shorter
Measured still, less 20 years
Since then
For a hundred though, I'd estimate
Commercially it waged
For locomotives that spanned generations
Arguing their cases
Steel and timber, coal and men
Graffiti painted cars
Seeking passage to the mills and to the yards
The whitish quartz stones littered now
Have turned a mottled red and brown
Tall weeds and brush in residence
Of both the gaping ends
Half a mile in the darkness
Rusty fences stand as sentries
Denying us of entry to this ground