Hidden

Hidden

There is a smoke the angels make,
you can observe on a moonless night,
when the stars are eternally burning,
against the blackness of oblivion.

Follow the trail of the scentless rise
of vapors ascent against the sky.
Trace the line back to find it's source,
and see the face the angels make.

This of course is not their true form
but a visage created for you,
to humble the essence for the eyes of some
who would die at the full revelation.

For an angel is terrible to the mortal frame,
for the same reason you are warned
Not to utter the holy name.
You are human after all, and to approach the holy,
you must be hidden from the glory of the same.

For there is a smoke the angels make,
you can observe on a moonless night,
when the stars are eternally burning,
against the blackness of oblivion.