Montezuma's Revenge

As the sun sets on the lowly cliffs and valleys, 

The gods wake from their midnight slumber,

Descending down upon the land and its ants,

In the dark of night,

The dead of activity.

Under the thinning veil, 

The blood starts pumping,

In the awakened ones, 

Of the darker hours.

When mere mortals sleep,

The real magic begins,

The bugs buzz,

The lizards and frogs lay in wait.

Above the stars, the cosmos goes,

The slumbering bodies, 

Tucked in snug as a bug in a rug,

Where their soul goes…

Nobody knows.