Put your eye to the telescope and

peer at the two figures in the future,

a kaleidoscope of smiles and silences,

of whispers and honest songs with off key cadences.

You cannot hear them

but it is written in their faces

like hunger in a dog's eyes

or the unburied, a palace for flies,

they too are plagued.

You cannot warn them,

trapped in the darkness of your eye, looking

down the great dumb blackness of a barrel of a gun

at these two yet to see their future selves,

mute, shrouded, both expired.

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