Survivors Poem by Lucien Stryk

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.