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.