Spiritual

my tears of salt does bitter taste 
yet my blood tastes bitter still 
and eyes of blood sees all forgot 
with envy, hate from lust begot. 
begotten fear will flee the light 
then dark will be the sight. 
forgotten love will cease and spurn; 
the lover will borne to hell! 
flee the very sight of it 
we do with screeching, grinding voice. 
hark rasp voice and gnashing teeth 
with ears so pierced with scream 
and whettedwind will slice at skin; 
will spoil that sorry face, 
that whetted wind so thrice began 
will thrice the end endeavour 
yet six will be salvations horn, 
oh what the might of it will be! 
tiny pin so sharp, the thorn, 
will pierce the eyes of us who see! 
flee, flee for your lives! 
bitter will you become; 
bitter your tears and sullen mind, 
and bitter most, your heart 
thrice is the whetted wind; 
thrice the end will it endeavour