Blessed are the spiritually poor, the wounded.
Wisdom doesn't come until five meters later.
Lord, if You had been here,
my brother wouldn't have died.
Out of the depths I call Thee, Lord, please hear
my call calling. Against Thee I have
sinned, my sins, shift them east,
not west. From eternal to eternity.
Jesus, our brother, still weeps with the grievers.
Says that last word, please let him go now.
Not any strange text, not from a looking glass.
But face to face.