Survivors

 

                                                       Of the survivors there was only one

                                                      That spoke,  but he spoke as if whatever

                                                      Life there was hung on his telling all,

                                                      And he told all.   Of the three who stayed,

                                                      Hands gripped like children in a ring,  eyes

                                                      Floating in the space his wall had filled,

                                                      Of the three who stayed on till the end,

                                                      One leapt from the only rooftop that

                                                      Remained, the second stands gibbering

                                                      At a phantom wall,  and it’s feared the last,

                                                      The writer who had taken notes,  will

                                                      Never write another word.   He told all.


                                                                     



                                                                        Lucien Stryk    (  +   2013   )














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