The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I am a female of the new times,

Which means I really haven't any clue.

Men may carry over some belongings,

But women will be altogether new.

Each of us will have to be a sculptor

Carving madly every stage of life.

Our models must be pure imagination

Dancing in the winds of daily strife.



I'm sure there will be much I will regret:

Freedom offers vast fields for mistakes.

But I will spend my time among the mountains

Bathing in the shock of icy lakes.



I know that I don't know what I will be,

And find that total ignorance inviting.

May many of my sisters come with me!

The journey will be painful and exciting.

There are some crimes that cannot be forgiven,

For which no punishment can be enough,

Which should by such harsh sentence be forbidden

That none would dare so damned a fortune touch.

And yet the children still are raped, abused,

Made actors in a nightmare none should see,

Fondled, fettered, forced, defiled, used

By those who cannot help but evil be.

And for such twisted souls no cure is certain.

The debt cannot be paid and left behind.

Freedom brings anew the old temptation,

And all the tightened springs beg to unwind.

All people in their sorrow should be loved,

But some must ever be from us removed.

Pornography is sex

Out of context,

Reducing people's

Nakedness to

Organs.

Given time,

Real people want

Affection, feel

Pain, feel love,

Have second thoughts,

Yearn for something more.

Please don't mind if I make love to you

Imagining another in my arms.

No one special - anyone will do

Whose claims have not yet sanitized her charms.

Lust loves not love, but finds its joy in power:

To stir someone to sunlit ecstasy;

To purchase someone's person by the hour;

To force the flesh to yield the fantasy.

Love loves not lust, but finds its joy in giving:

Pleasure, yes, but passion slowly fades.

Affection, yes, but one needs more from living:

The knife-sharp edge of lust that love betrays.

Give then, my love, the flesh that spurs the dream,

As I for you, that lust might love redeem.

Do not love me yet, for I

Am still a slender moon,

A scimitar about the heart

Too sharp to touch too soon.

Before I'm touched I need to grow

More full in golden light;

I need to smile upon my earth

And rule some patch of night.



I need to know what roads and fields

Lie in my domain

And dull my brand new ecstasies

With sophomoric pain.



I need the love of some blank boy

As cold and dark as me,

That we might grope in ignorance

And fear of what might be.



And then when I'm a silver bowl

And know what I can hold,

Then, then, perhaps, we could try love

If you are not too old.

LOVE IS A DISEASE

Blackened hearts filled with hate,

a reprised demolition of loverÕs fate.

Sickened by lust and seeping with greed,

a famine to slaves and warning to the freed.

Love is just a symptom, a virus to be cured,

not to be embraced, and merely endured.

So chop off my head if I ever fall in love,

and rip off the wings of this symbolic dove.

MY CONSCIENCE

Fading sun above the city of dusts

i stare out of the window

as far as my eyes do not betray me



People mistaking happiness for lust

easier for me to follow

somehow my conscience won't let me



swimming in a sea of hipocrisy

dreams vaporizing in skies of lies

hope withers dust to rust



I am what my conscience is

I am what I know is good

I am what I believe