The hood - who are you

The hood - who are you?

All angels in light, hid with sight, to a hood of an angel, in my corridor lit sight, yet angels in circumference do lie, with night hold, to offer an introduction on an angel a word, and hid with light tight, can you give me your name my guidance lit sight, I have tried all words, and angels now with swords, and I cannot hid sight to your name, with a blight, as I do not know form with a name withheld torn.

Show me a sight, so I can call you in rememberances name, to never solder my lips, on your tilted head, a claim, but a hood and robe, in offerings sight tame, to a hand in the darkness, now a hood opened and downward sight name.

I can only offer you, what is known, what is sown, a rememberance my name, and a teacher sown flown, yet what sight I can rid, in a hood tilted, filled, to tell you the teacher is not him, with greetings light hid.

My hood is not known, my sight is not a throne, my hand is not a claim, to rid you of a claim to throne own, yet motion withstood in kindness exclaim, I can offer a meeting, in continous motion my fame, and hide in a name, all traces of slight, to hold in others missions, and tended in greetings their fight.

My hood, is old, and tilted sold, yet not is known, to others words a name to fold. I can offer you guidance, and greetings of night, and shower you with comforts, and recknonings, to slight, yet what of I, old, on a mission foretold, to track my being light, in a hood as dark night?

Did you think these angels burdened with wear, gleaning their offerings on missions, knitted eyes tear, could see with loft, or continuation lift ease, to show you a vessel, in rememberances flees?

What mercy my name, what drift, my hood fame, what loft is your vision, but a sword knitted downward tame, that if you cannot see the angel, in haloes hid ease, you will not know my sorrow, his companion, your eyes lit tease. I do not know if this angel grouped beat, his eyes, has no mercy, just favourings knit grease. He offers nothing in meetings rare tilt fame, only hands of kindness in sorrows’ lifted tilt sane.

I am no angel, no coarse, for you to lift night, but my hands, are sorrow, and accompaning tomorrows sight, if you hold me in vision, in pairing with ease, I can shoulder an experiment in company rid be.

I know you know not, of my form lit night, lit form in your sight, of my hood and robe, but a hand tilted right. I am no angel, but grouped knitted ease fame, to shower you with greetings, but nothing I can hold to a grain, of a mercy lift knowing, sight drifted kind crop, to shower you with love, in continued motion, I could drop.

• Part company immediately tend greet. I have reset the eyes across the staive, and your hindrances my doorway greeting beat. Servant, clean the mess in the room hid find, sever all entrances knowings blind, and reset the eyes, the pedestal grouped beat, I need a new angel with eyes burning white his feat, and offering with woe, his eyes lit flame, to knowings and wisdoms, all feat, hands reaped blind fame. Come, reset the eyes, the beat so tender crop, the sandle, is one, to a point now you have won.