Eichah (How?)

How can a city just sit?
Solitary.
Weeping copious tears while white-clad sanitation workers diligently sweep up the rainbow blood of her children?
Four thousand years ago, another man with a knife walked these streets with his wood-bearing son.
He, too raised his fist in passion, but an angel descended to soften the blow and disable the devouring knife.
And just a stone’s throw away in another village, screams and horror echo off charred walls.
There are no angels anymore.
Only passion
And hate
And solitary weeping.
Eichah?