Seldom am I struck with terror, as the
Day I sojourned at the Village of Care.
Welcome, they said, we are defenders
Of truth. Here all evil must beware.
You look famished. Come join us  
For our monthly community feast,
A time of fellowship and celebration,
A time for a blessing from the High Priest.
I took my seat at one of their long tables
And was instructed to bow my head
As the High Priest blessed the food
And to my horror slit his wrist and bled  
On a silver cup passed for everyone to sip.
I refused of course when the cup came to me.
Excuse me sir, but this is a hallowed tradition,
To descent is an offense of high degree.
Now, now said the village chief, he is our guest.
Slaves, send out the newborn brain, let us eat!
I winced when I saw the platters of gray mush
Brought in by branded men, scarred and beat.
I turned to the woman beside me and asked how
Are there still slaves and absurd rituals like these.
She pretended to ignore me and looked the other
Way, but her eyes screamed… just obey… please.
The High Priest heard me and sternly declared,
Women are forbidden to speak among us men.
All that you see is in the Book of Care.
Doctrine from the most High is law, my friend.
With that the villagers ravaged on newborn brain,
Desperately consuming what they lack.
I took a bite of the gray mush and swallowed,
Yet my stomach revolted and sent the mush back.
Regurgitated brain plopped on my plate,
Heads turned and silence with full force invaded.
What sacrilege is this? exclaimed the High Priest,
It seems that this man’s soul is rot and degraded.
Utter disgust plastered on everyone’s faces.
Some men stood up and took hold of my body.
They marched to the village gates and hurled
Me out and spat on me for being ungodly.
And to this day the thought I cannot bear
That there exists the horror that is the Village of Care.