…maybe there are no virgins at night…
when darkness comes, we all become slaves to our own
passions, lose the charade
and become old souls.
unconsciously, we mimic the loss of light,
and things stop being so new.
strangely enough, we feel safe to go around
naked, unguarded, pure
and it is in the depth of the black
we find our freedom, our release.
our tears fall, our hearts break, our souls scream
because in the glaring sunlight
everything is bleached shallow.
we are cushioned
by the possibility of not being seen
of being swallowed by the oblivion (of the night).
it is safe here in the dark
but that ends, that always ends.
the sun always rises in the east
(the side that most of the world has
turned its back on).
every morning, we are reborn
to wear the clothes again of a virgin,
to keep the bloodied, soiled garments
of a savior who gave his life,
and pretend that the world is
a reasonable place.