The Oldest Conflict

The oldest conflict They shot and wounded the old Syrian in his tobacconist's near where I live, he was rescued by passers-by By the corner, two Jews dressed in black, stood motionless I thought of vultures, waiting for the lion to die. It is so abstract 2000 years, nothing ever changes; who is right and who is wrong don't matter anymore, empathy has gone, only grim, ancient hatred remains. Different interpretations of the right way to God becomes meaningless, chaos in a miasma of words, everyone is right but fail to see the commonality when blinded by bigotry.