Be Thoust My Vision

Be thoust my vision
Epiphany burneth bright.

Of carnal dreads
Once aware,
Of dreams, verbose.

Propitious be thoust mercy
And mother Mary
Full of grace.

Yet, where arst thee now?
In mantic timings
I find tis all but lost.

Captured.
Contained.
No power to weld.

Now is the time,
Your grandeur—
To exculpate.

A clamorous burden
Pressing unto thy bones.

I fret your presence
Be all but turneth sour
Or dour, nay
Be the difference.

Welcome here,
you are no more
Flee from my sight
And bury thoust vision
Beneath the willow tree.