The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The Lady of the Ravens

Can you hear the cawing call?
The forest echoes with its voice in the fall,
Watching like a watchmen over the entrance of the wild,
Like the old friend beckoning you closer to a world of the agile,

Can you hear the warning crash?
That splits the air with crescendo smash,
To tell the animals something draws near,
To warn of things others couldn’t hear,

Can you know the ladies name?
The queen of the fiana the queen of games,
Who once lead men to love their place,
Next to the woods that mapped their space,

Can you love the song of the night?
Where darkness wins instead of light,
Where the other half of life’s great game,
Gets played out by effects some find untamed,

Can you hear her truth from decay?
To watch the world as it behaves,
Your body a breakdown of life in display,
Without the death of things nothing can stay,


Can you hear her beautiful song?
When crows on roofs all come along,
To echoing sound as if each call a pulse,
Then understand that life has course,

Can you feel the touch of death?
It constantly is there even if you hold your breath,
But people have never actually behaved,
In truth of micro to macro we still cling to being saved,

But the goddess’ visions brought some to mind,
Of things that in regular reality one can’t find,
And as the peaceful rites moved to common peoples,
It put on male face entering steeples,
Yet the lady of the land still conjured fear,
For a predator she is quite clear,
But every man must face what lies at the end,
Whatever judgement or faith you choose to be in,
Yet probably it will be a surprise,
If anything is there you’ll have to adapt to the ride,
But most likely you break away from you,
Becoming part of the fabrics amalgam stew,
And maybe then you’ll be cradled in her arms,
The dew coming in the morning to wash what was your palms,
And then you’ll go into being another piece,
That another animal can exploit or a fungi eats you as you are deceased,
Then it makes sense she was a lady of the lands fluidity,
For she is a combination of all our past identities,
And though we act as termites building cities,
We might just be the next passing of novel proclivities,
Of the thing we all source all our cells,
And give back to as death rings her bells,
For sidhe’s truth got warped to evil warning,
The lady screaming or washers singing,
Only gave an idea that she was bad,
But listen to the words of the Babd,
Babd-sidhe speaks of peace everlasting,
What a strange song for someone labeled to demonic casting,
I think the triplet’s old song can give us strength,
To a world where nature is given rank,


Where life is not the only thought,
And where black gives honor to ideas sought,
For I love those who dress in display,
Of countering the drabble of idiots in modern day,
The people who claim normal as only the good thoughts are allowed to people,
Say they never cause any harm or evil,
Then devour the world like it was their play thing,
And call abstract thought a creation of sin,
To them I hold the highest contempt,
For you will never see the beauty in the entire game,
You will never know truth just half of the name,
And transferring onto the next,
You will swallow the world in material context,
And become the empty termite mounds,
Where maybe ants next in line will move into and abound,
Learning life is not some toy,
For idiots to piss away for personal joy,
Yet trapped to a cycle we all push on,
Just wondering which species will next pick up the baton,
And learn from a species that wanted to kill better than any other,
And sacrificed the world sitting in church pews calling each other brother,
While all the while the world fell down,
Because you couldn’t even give respect for the ground,
An aspect supposedly of what you call god,
Yet you justify taking all and destroying his façade,
The mountain will one day answer your half with a devastating black,
And to heaven your eyes will go and nothing will stare back…
Then maybe we have been demonizing the queen,
Who compliments half of our true being,
And gives hope that countering uncontrolled zeal,
Will give us an understanding through which our minds can know is from our world real…




Sean Stutzman

The Philosopher’s Goal

The truth that Pythagoras sought,
To sunder from men of specialty taught,
That in each age the thinker tries to remove,
The inequalities that life brings to consume,
Yet with Genius he is pushing the sand in his palm,
The problem that men like to destroy in life without qualm,
From any era or any age,
The quiet man sits in utter shame,
That though we call ourselves tame,
Authority not character rule the game,
So that morality is directed from those with fame,

But this is why the men of thought,
Sought refuge in mysterious holdings and on mountain tops,
A route that never makes the culture match up,
And great minds leave silence as the world swallows their minds brought,
As fear is a ruler instead of thought,
Empathy a lever not a rule to be brought,
The quiet souls sit back in isolation,
Though they may be the only people that actually have inspiration,
And silent drones the rest keep working,
Whether in ecstatic cults or modern twerking,
They live for the escape from the game and its set,
The reality they run from is like a choking net,


Yet this behavior is railed against and upset,
By any and all ways of concept,
That the regular day to day,
Has become so important the men of outside get no say,
Tied to papers that tell us answer can only be trusted,
By sources that none of us get to look at and make info be fed,
Then these men of mountains realized that culture is flawed,
Though Plato and Socrates promise beauty to all,
For the group can never adequately install,
The truth that the Vagabond has readily on call,
And so our ideas circle biting a tail for all to fall,
The problems of future are paused for social stall,
Then our pompous attitude of modern success,
Will only be tested when brought to quiz through stress,
And the development will progress even with problem in test,
And again we will be the fallen claiming to be the best,

So sit back in mountains that are to disappear and find solitude,
Run to the hills where others make no time to,
Learn the identities of all that you can,
For a more rounded human reality that people can stand,
Not some image of play that makes regular folk food,
For the ideas of entertainment continually consumed,
Until all that is left is sitting in cubes,
Laughing at things that we have seen 10 times on the tube,
Feeling less like a contributor and more like animal in zoo,
With the elite watching in cover with lamb skin hiding doom,
For like passion their attention only holds for things in boom,
The ideas that people seek with impatience damn the good,
For even in simple action boredom shall consume,
And create the next radicals inside the stew,
A trick that in a melting pot makes labels our only truth,
And leaves happiness a carrot in front of the cart promised so smooth,
Yet seems absent to even the richest and the most motivated,
For they will never admit that in doing so their existence is dominated,
And more and more dogmas will give more and more groups,
Things that should have just been available by treating each other good,

So like the old thinkers I hope to remove elite in idea,
But a chaos is brought if to this action is brought too much zeal,
And gives reason behind why Shiva and Merlin are bringers of destruction,
Even though their paradigms are to bring love through action,
Then we are all the destroyers sitting in quiet calm,
The gifts of computers and television numb the internal qualm,
And like Fahrenheit 451 we sit enjoy walls all day,
Then when laying down we can’t stand being in our own brains,
A quiet feeling that runs deep through us all and monsters often game,
Yet we are all the complacent horde tired, worn out, and yet without any say,
Still sitting in the best that we could do by leading all through play,
Yet labeling and judging each other by simple interactive choice,
Why can’t we have the time to hear internal voice…
For shall we be men who love each other,
Or the next name on the list to advantage a brother…
The only happiness comes from others shame,
Then lost forever we’ll play the same game…


Sean Stutzman