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Hope You Enjoyed The Eclipse While It Lasted

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

Life's A Candle

Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

The Light Goes On In The Attic

Circumstance Changes All

I Am....( a keen observation )

(A Prayer of Intercession--Brief Joy)

Malla Batsick

not the story of my youth

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

Tuesday afternoon in the jewelry box

What If

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

the slave is freed

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

All Beings Considered

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

The Secret Eater

Max on the max


Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

A Man Called Tsuris

For The Loss Of A Ghost Like You

Love A Cat

Fragile Shell Of Morning

I Long For Stars

I Feel Fine(r)

The Crow Is A Songbird

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

And With Words I Let Them Go

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The Secret Eater

in ancient villages
enveloped in secluded forest
lived a people
flawed like all people can be
they had a tradition
to name The Secret Eater
the most sacred member of the tribe
there would ever be

this person must have character
this person must have the trust
of every single tribe member
this person must only listen
and never divulge a single word
the Secret Eater
was the keeper of all secret shames and sins
go to the Secret Eater to unburden yourself
so a new life can begin again
He's almost a Father Confessor
but not quite a friend

this Secret Eater had a place of honor
this Secret Eater knew prestige
this secret eater ate the best of food
and when there was privilege
the secret eater knew no need
he felt he lived the life of ease
this sacred Secret Eater

woe the one who thinks he has the world
woe the one who in ignorance proceeds
to judge those all around him
the one who is catered to in every need
the Secret Eater

as time goes on the tribal members
all know
there is a certain metered usefulness
and when its decided in council
the Secret Eater eventually loses his purpose
it begins with the generous offering
of a very special kind of mead
the kind of potent drink that puts the Secret Eater
into the heaviest state of dreams
and then the tribal members gather round
and murder the Secret Eater
while he is asleep

time is a wearisome reminder
time is a worrisome thing
confessions of sins and shame grow and build
a gathering storm of rain
until it is a tempest
until it worries every member of a tribe
that time has marched on
and perhaps the secret eater's tongue might slip
and silence may no longer be on their side
this is the secret that no secret eater
is ever told
that in the end the Secret Eater
is killed and eaten
and the System overrides humanity
until the next unwitting Secret Eater
is in-ceremoniously chosen

This is not some made up fiction. I learned about this in
a college Social Anthropology course. It fascinated me.
Maybe the surprise ending. Maybe the naivite of the secret
eater. (This is my word/set of descriptive words for this
role.) There are people in society today, not just in
Head Hunter societies, who seem to serve this same purpose
....well really throughout history. Sacrificial lambs. Think
about this. What is it about a society that creates sacrificial
lambs that is so repelling/repulsing and yet at the same time,
eerily interesting. Our darkest natures indeed. //////////

I write to get my audience to think about themselves and
their own lives, the world around them. I'm sharing myself
so that you can think a little more deeply. Letting
you borrow my light.
I don't merely write emotion-laden stories.

legal copyright September 8, 2017 10:49am PST
and also for this writer/author Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted site title"

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