Read the Writing

Skye Maelstrom Faust





It was a dark and stormy night,
And the gods were torn between wrong and right.
The fire burned, casting an eerie light
Of flaming shadows to heaven's height.

And from a place that I know well,
I have come, a story I must tell.
About the highest angels long since fell
To the dark cold depths of this cursed hell.

Living, I died
A child inside.
I'm sorry I lied;
Nowhere to hide.

Forever and ever and still I fall.
I've cursed myself and cursed them all.
But I know my name you'll never call.
I can read the writing on your wall.

Some say this is my nightmare.
You know this more than I can bear.
And a good love is surely rare.
My raw insides is what I bare.

Take my hand;
Bless the land.
Hear the band.
Ask - demand.








-- September 5, 1996.





This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This story is a copyright of Skye Maelstrom Faust (Michael Woods), 1998. All rights reserved.







The Dark Poet