The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Zeno’s Hands



Zeno stretched out his fingers, and showed the palm of his hand, – "Perception," – he said, – "is a thing like this."- Then, when he had closed his fingers a little, – "Assent is like this." – Afterwards, when he had completely closed his hand, and showed his fist, that, he said, was Comprehension. But when he brought his left hand against his right, and with it took a firm and tight hold of his fist: – "Knowledge" – he said, was of that character; and that was what none but a wise person possessed.



The flat palm with wide fingers tells us of what is seen,

Gives us impressions of what being human means,

Like reflections of the moon sitting on a lake gives views,

Only fools jump in to grasp at its truths,

Yet talk comes all too often from here,

As well as antiquated ideas of which way to steer.



Yet it gives us the most beautiful scenes,

Like cutaway montages in movies it seems,

We all get just imaginative dreams,

But the best kind of friendships hold on by these seems,



The hand begins to close as we mature,

A new level comes to ascend what is sure,

In turmoil the fingers long for the palm,

To add truth to the folly brought and add a sense of calm,

But this is the most unstable place of all,

With arguments and ascertainments spitting up while beginning to fall,

A new frame of mind comes into place as argument fingers settle to the palms place,





The fist does understand all it is true,

But uninventive and unimaginative it becomes construed,

To only what is happening at the moment pursued,

And can only be seen by those we deem removed,

Limited these people say those with open palms are fools,

That palms still closing are only good at dismantling their tools,

That everything should be just as we see it,

A nirvana born of stagnant observation while we sit,



But lucky are the few that step through the folds,

Looking past just what the world holds,

Then come unto the other hand its open again,

A place they forgot about in their own heads,

Taking the naïve and mixing with the known,

The great untold hero of knowledge unfolds,

To give us the wise for whom the world is like a puzzle exposed,

I hear Zeno’s words with cheer and delight,

And hope that more go for the end of his insight.

The Game of Masks



The ball begins as the persons take their places,

The list reads off their origins from many faces,

The butler called culture list off the few,

Starting with lowest attention due,



Each persona places in place the mask,

The one brought on by their families tasks,

Already given shape by those from before,

Your name and place announced as you walk through the doors,



But yet this game is funny of sorts as new masks sit inside,

From other people different shades are meant to confide,

So dancing around the room we all change face,

Maybe a little at first some trade place,



But the frozen few announced at the end come into the room,

It was their ball we all attended to our doom,

Brought in with the promise of good company and food,

Yet no measure was made to see into everyone’s mood,



So cobras sit watching and waiting for ruining,

With masks of pain to cover what they are doing,

Secret pacts hold true through all,

Leading many to dark masks that fall,







So focus is pointed to the Serpentine masks,

Claiming they are the evil incarnate with their tasks,

Yet they have not changed masks from the beginning,

A new thought takes hold the reasoning,



The ball and all who came were invited by one in the same,

The quiet figures who sit back as if tame,

Knowing holding that they created the game,



And while the hoard does rabble and strike,

Those tame take from their pockets and from their pride alike,

Until only the elaborate masks are on just a few,

The game they wanted to play all along we create a new,



Like vultures they rip off sequence and gems,

Feathers fly as they lie and destroy bonds between friends,

All the while the ball accuses the men,

That simply have been playing out the role handed unto them,



Cursed to waltz in violent fashions,

Doomed to self-implode on impending actions,

All the while the fat cat smiles,

Killing a few of the serpentine defilers,



Never solving what was promised at first,

But creating new concepts to hate and thirst,

For power is the place they were given,

Their masks handed to them with greed and ambition,

The masquerade was started to give joy to all,

Yet it seems more like a trial then a formal ball,

The common man trades masks and feels accomplished,

Yet never does it truly solve what he wanted to by switching fists,



Hammurabi screams down the ages with fire,

His glamourous followers aim to continue his desire,

For all are at the ball,

And can’t remember what sat outside of it all,



It seems like a different place is in our dreams,

One that held us all onto the same teams,

The differences were only between groups of being,

No individual dissections of perceptions misleading,



Yet the ball goes on into the night,

Until a traveler comes in from outside its light,

His face is bare it holds no mask,

His pallet clean only survival as task,



He laughs as he enters roaring the roofs beams,

This is what you do with your power and esteem,

You let these few challenge and hold you captive,

Making you switch what at the root you were after,









The ball goes quiet and all is on edge,

Until the man walks in with the most beautiful mask from an outside ledge,

Silencing the hoard starting to gripe and wonder,

Stating this is how we have all been made to blunder,



He says don’t worry I’ll fix it all soon,

Just make sure you keep on the masks given to you,

The ones who know him sigh with relief,

They almost had to work at something called a belief,



Then he says something quite unbelievably tossed,

Arrest this stranger who would make our beliefs to be crossed,

He is evil I tell you without a doubt a bad revealer,

Pay no attention to the fact he just proved me the deceiver,



His knights come out and grab the man,

Just before he reaches out his hand,

Pulling masks off as he runs through the room,

But the executioner’s squad comes to bring his doom,



And as they go to kill him then,

He says one last time over the roaring din,











“Personas are masks made to have fun, but you are not having fun when all is done. Meant to be plain faced and bare humans are, adding masks to add flavor to the enjoyment of all. Yet you all have become sick thinking the mask is yourself, don’t you see that is his best trick, if not his only power to grasp. When you pull off your masks and burn them in suit, a much lovelier mask will be there at the ground for you. Then we can all have a ball one with a real beginning, and a thought to play cards to all different players. No longer judging by what one person will do but allowing each other to find agreements in truth, and knowing that it’s as fuzzy to me as it is to you…”

Before he is finished they chop off his head,

The leader cheers that justice is manifested,

Yet the ball is coming to the end of the night,

The masks of the few more elaborate each fight,



And as dawn breaks and the ball is through,

One masked man sits in an empty room,

His pockets are full,

His orders are clear,



But no other voice comes back when his orders are sneered…



The dawn then burns him to a crisp…

Leaving just the skeleton of the building to sing…

Of what marvel we all had as human beings…