Unclear nuclear

Probably, perhaps definitely.
You would be reading this
or even better, listening to this
under a coal miner's head lamp.
And wouldn't be facing
those regular sighs of marsh gas
the ancient dead emanate.
Those dead
sustain us, the living.
Pretty tired, they might vanish
like a sick-of-it-all character
who runs away from home.
But we have to go on living.
Find ways that can sustain
that golden spark once struck
between the two stones.
The temperature of our warm blood
needs to be kept up even in the dark.
As every hand gropes about
for the relieving sound of the matchbox.
We need something more upright
than a melt candle.
The blazing ends of a fuel rod
holding out a sun, on Earth.
Yes, an unknown monster
like the fire that we started out with.
Our optimism and pessimism
The children of our necessity.
But what needs to be done
has to be done.

All this yapping is fine.
But who will pay?
For whom?
And with what?
Till then, the full fists
and empty stomachs
will be on the roads.