And when fate pitted the two colliding
gods in battle, the outcome
was what you'd expect:
both rising up from
the cracked asphalt, one light
the other dark, one evil the other
misplaced, the earth split apart
and the trees bowed their heads
in silence for the figure
laying on the ground with a glock 9
bullet in his temple and a smashed
candy bar in his palm.
How senseless
the war between ideas, between
wrong and inconclusive. That afternoon
morality
was a crow frying itself
on a power line.
Common decency and respect
were lost tourists who
couldn't speak the native tongue.
And now, in the wake of the colossal battle,
the entire country washes its
hands in blood and pauses to weep
for the martyrs
who continually rise and fall for
nothing.
After following the Zimmerman case for a few days, I felt compelled to write this poem. An unarmed teenager is dead from a form of domestic terrorism concealed as rightist ideology.