We are weak.
We cannot,
shall not,
will not
save ourselves.
Why?
Because we're
weak,
useless,
pathetic,
human beings
who fail
and stumble
and trip up.
We cannot save ourselves.
There is only one man who can.
And yet,
we killed Him.
We killed the only person
who could have saved up from ourselves.
And yet,
even with His death on our hands,
we can still be saved.
The Father of the Man we
brutally murdered
is reaching down to us with an open hand.
But we turn away.
And so we die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem