In the breath of dust, where silica hides, A silent storm within the lungs resides. Tiny shards of sand, quartz, and stone, Inhale them deep, and they carve to the bone.
Chronic silicosis, slow to arise, Years of toil beneath unseen skies. A cough, a pain, the breath grows thin, A battle with time that few can win.
Accelerated, the pace quickens fast, Five years gone, but the shadows cast. Scars like maps on a fragile chest, The toll is taken, there's little rest.
Acute, the fiercest of all the forms, A tempest that in weeks can transform. Breathless, weightless, life fades away, The lungs surrender, they cannot stay.
Prevention's the shield, the mask, the law, To guard the breath, to prevent the flaw. For once the dust has settled inside, No cure, no peace, no place to hide.
