The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

The Only True Resurrection

I screamed - I kicked - I cried out again,
Wailing - Thrashing the wood overhead,
Set trapped all my answers all sat there and lay,
On books of wood and tablets of clay,
The answers are set never to leave,
They are resolute forever no more ways to concede,


What cruel fate sat me where I am,
A vicious woman of heartless intent?
Alas no others can I blame for my fate,
My din crescendos into self hate,
Set in stone like my mind,
Whose natures I bring argument truly self lies find,


To weak to stand I must relent,
Accept the happy hunting ground tent,
Yet so close to the end I see no beautiful sight,
No paradise found No kingdoms of light,
My struggles settle realizing my state,
No fighting will take me from my final date,


The crippling box sits mocking my head,
Angels and spirits engraved in my bed,
Is it a true lesson to sit with extinguishing hope,
Obviously I'll ascend soon according to all popes,
Yet darkness locks in as it should all go soon,
My life completed by an ethereal noon,


But hours turn to days and days into months,
My isolated prison all too much is punishment enough,
All the hours squandered in my living day,
All the damage to others treating them as prey,
I'm no better off - and no worse than those,
Who I dismantled their dreams abolished their hope,


For is it for me to stay always in lines,
To admit I don't know what’s happening in front or behind,
To proud to say that I am truly scarred,
Yet telling others pride is the worst sin to bear,
Hippocrates sings next to me in ominous tune,
Laughing at those who expect all to come as truth,


For we lose the idea that no one knows,
Where we will be when we finally go,
Systems are augmented for such cultural flow,
Yet hell is a new creation three thousand years ago,
The shamans were trying to absolve and bring peace,
To those too shattered by unexpected recently deceased,


For rules are our own dissertations,
From prophets seeking healing in all the wrong places,
Yet we are biased in almost every view,
"Holding ourselves up," when really we kneel in the pews,
For we will never truly know ourselves,
Continuing over hurdles solvable by face value at most,


Now those tablets are dust and molded books cannot boast,
So here I lie in eternal compost,
Until finally a beautiful tree does rip asunder and renew my ghost…


Let life mirror death and death mirror life,
The ancients taught us symbolic insight,
Yet no one has returned,
Who has, has lied,
For deaths grip will take the macro un-denied
Then ask how the little dust speck cheat from inside...




Sean Stutzman

Can You Hear Me Dead Man

If I call will your ears still catch my words?
If I yell to the wind will you hear my crying?
If I keep you in mind will you still feel my feeling?
If I push my hands to the earth can I feel your touch?

For are you skeletal sitting in the earth,
Waiting for my call to give you rebirth,
Can I call to those before even without their name?
Can I give them respect that in life never came?

Can I do anything without looking insane?
For have we lead ourselves to a world that’s far from tame?
Where the wild held our fears before humans now stand in state,
Can I whisper life back to you?

Playing the runes game,
Can I peer the veil to assume your natural state?
Can I feel your problems and hear the pull within?
Or am I just playing a flavor to a game inside my brain?

At the end you’ll stand in front of me like a pulse,
The feeling you gave me back when your body was full,
The mind creates the realm for those from before,
And as the dark whispers to me I can hear your roaring bull,


I am just the one to listen to what you said for me to see,
But still calling out Dead man can you hear me?
I will give respect to the two kings,
When one is pushing his green heart explodes with life,
And when the other plays the living think they know strife,

Yet can the feeling be really all inside,
Or to outer force does my brain hide,
I hear the voice from a lady far behind,
Who was simply trying to give others power through insight,
Yet a villain they sing her though experience she gave birth,
And truth through all experience is true spiritual worth,
The patterns became too important to the play,
And not what inside the ritual was really made for us to say,
For that is why we feel a pull when acting out ritual rite,
For even if no outer effect it pulls at what is inside,
And then like alchemists we hear the true search,
Like a depressed man finding mirth,


Then are we seekers of pattern or the finders of what was there,
The smartest attribute is simply noticing how to play beyond fear,
The boat ceremonies of the past and the cult of the bull,
Were ritual to dodge the catastrophes brought by our world,
Yet we always played ourselves at the top which is how even in the past the meanings were lost,
So let us reach back to where the rituals began,
In dance and ecstasy and connection to the land,
To plants that gave helping hand,

For we can then grab back the visions from the source,
The lady at the back of mind who gives your life force,
The truth of Shiva’s corpse as nothing without Kali’s power to course,
For we are nothing but a mental state without the material world,
And the thinkers in dream lost that both are true,
Not some heaven to be found but a truth from youth,
That life is a play from which we all learn,
Sitting still you hear the actual truths unfurl,
Yet running around we lose all that is in front,
Like an hourglass our reality plays its course,
And as the sand slips away we will next be the one,
Being called to with words,
Hearing cries on the wind,
Catching thoughts of those we left,
Feeling hands reach for the dead,

Can you hear me Dead man?
Yes of course,
But we will only speak outside your mind when you return to our source…



Sean Stutzman

She Dances Between The Graves

Her eyes did drop to the land where she lay,
Those below wish to jump out to play,

But Sad to say they never should,
Though given opportunity they all could,

Her scarlet robe does rest on her skin,
Hiding behind the vipers grin,

For those below were never her thought,
From birth the bloodlust was what she sought,

No time to dream of those in graves,
So the land they rest is where she plays,

Her food does come to often wallow,
Removing their pains she does fallow,

Past the old hill where all can see,
To the place at wish she releases them free,

Those who choose her sweet loving kiss,
Will live on for life in total bliss,

Until the blood is far away,
Though in nocturnal night they survive anyway,

For it is in our nature to feed,
And the beauty of life is that energy is its seed,

So she sees the world on even eyes,
Every creature is at the exact same level as it dies,

For we are the children living on corpses,
The whole world is just another entropic bouquet of roses,

Looking beautiful from outside we try to come in,
But sitting dormant without much function we ruin it with din,

Our great mother the planet is our sweet Vampiress,
She feeds off our lives as we end face down on her breast,

So is it our arrogance to make out graves,
When dirt itself comes from blood, sap, and rot as it behaves,

So let the world hold you near,
And remember the grave is our cold final sneer,

For we do all wish to live forever,
Though she walks through graves no gifts given ever,

We cling to moments as drops that spray,
In sacrifices of graphic display,

For what cause but survival is there to live for,
Yet an unending list comes at those causes to die for,

Only allowed to be held by those around us,
And for normality to become the fighting ground to which we lust,

As each of our stories ring in her ears,
The taste of our life makes new options more clear,

Ironic it is her that we've come to fear,
As we allowed only survival to steer,

She wishes life to not go quick,
But to learn from the pain, the hurt, and the sick,

Our beautiful dark embracing Nephthys,
Our world will guard us as we rest,

Let those who are fearful last,
While the bravado of some makes them leave fast,

I do feel privileged to live under her rules,
As she serves an equality that makes many men fools,

Often singing her on their sides,
Only to be shown the actual justice of ebb and tides,

So let us hold our glorious mother on high,
For its guaranteed she will take your life that is no lie,

But she will be a fair and giving leader who provides,
For every time that you die it's certain the same person could never have survived,

So as she dances through graves,
Remember that what she gave you was brains,

Remember that she can always terrify you,
Unless you understand that she is our world glue,

To know more is to do more,
And to do more is to alleviate being a bore,

But never forget that clock is ticking by your door,
Always waiting to swing open once more,
She dances between the graves,
And all day long on top of it we play.



Sean Stutzman

Reborn

When darkness feeds on the dawn,
When the goodness in people has gone,
Those around who help the fallen,
Should be gifted with happiness a calling,
For the raven caws with open mouth,
The hawk screams with jaws apart...

Am I just lonely in my world,
As I sat and felt the stones hurled,
People think they know you,
But what can strangers gleam from just your views,
Arrogance begets more pain than friends...

So I hope to revitalize my thoughts,
Back to people who can rebound what is brought,
Not fear and condemnation for knowing nothing,
For authors are perceived by their words not meaning,
I hope the dream can still kiss me with eloquence...

My head aches from my discomfort,
My eye shakes with every turn until inert,
I write this with one eye closed,
My fingers know the buttons I suppose,
Soon my heart will beat again...

Many might see the devil in my eyes,
So sad an empty understanding creates lies,
I hope the future will bring fresh ties,
Like the snake sliding off my skin I will rise,
Rebirth is a ritual in and of life's bleakest cries...

So the cats purr in unison,
Soon my fate will be more din,
I'll dance again the sound will force me to move again,
But not until healing I split out forked tongue and sin,
Leaving me to writhe spent on the floor skin beside me...

The next page,
The next story,
The next poem,
What next do I grasp for,
Maybe if my story was finished a different lore,
But alas the world will only drain more,
Shaking my fiber and will to its core,
May the philosophers find freedom to sing in this horrid world...


For when the bird can no longer sing,
When the jewels luster is tarnished on the ring,
When the world treats thought as a crusade to bring,
Then no joy is left in singing the beauty just a sting,
I hope the compassion I feel from family shows to a world of wonder...


Sad that people find vulnerability weak,
A world were efficiency is all they seek,
Unforgivable the mouse runs so meek,
Yet the falcon has no choice as its now in its beak,
Life feeds on life,
Character on character,
Plant on decomposed plant...

But from the rot and fester springs new life,
New growth,
Bigger,
Denser,
Microbial war strife,
Fungal screaming erupting with life,
All to sustain us...

So I can rise back up from falling,
I can once again hear a calling,
I can stop the pain by stalling,
I can love every group while ecstatically balling,
I can raise my daughters to respect the world as astonishing,
I can show others that I respect all opinions and minds nonending,
I can hope to again free myself from tyrannical ties that are confounding,
And as I raise my eyes to the wild they are pointing two ways...


I still feel the worlds power as it is all consuming,
All resounding,
All resplendent dawning,
As the wolves devour the sky around me,
I'll howl with them and feast on nothing,
As the serpent devours the barge,
Ill hiss with delight screaming so large!
And as the dung gets rolled into a sun,
Reborn to the next period time as always won,

For no terror in this world can be found,
If no instance of terror in your mind is held bound,
Entropy drools pools of fertility,
May my personhood spring from the tidepool once again,
The same me,
Yet a new me,
What pleasant whispers come to my ears from muse,
Even in pain their sweet voices soothe,
Again poetry is my only truth,
A minstrel of the damned I'll play my part,
Another lie I hold so dearly to heart,
In this a world of paradox my horse before the cart...




Sean Stutzman