The Fault Of The Crier Poem by Jamyson Hoelscher

I look around and realize that I'm the only one left.
Still alive from a disaster which ends me in bereft.
One which is my own fault, this truth I can scarcely bare.
Being the remainder of when everything was was split into share.
It all started with a single tear,
one of which the world could hear.
It dropped so quickly, so quietly, so softly through the air.
Every soul simply watched in agony and dispair.
Once it landed there was nothing, only rubble and the few scapegrace.
And now I must wonder. What else is there to face?
No more do I fear demons, for I fear I'm one myself.
The only thing I selfishly fear though is the thought to kill oneself.
Deciding fear's of no importance I choose to go ahead.
Walking over piles of ashes, stepping on the dead.
Crawling through the fragments of sorrow.
I have no more wishes to live tomorrow.
Grabbing a shard of apathy as one's murderous knife.
I dropp it in cowardice and dissapear out of life.