Pa ran inside,
All out of breath
Ma said "slow down"
"you look you've seen your own death"

He shut all the windows
Closed the shutters, the doors
He went to the cellar
And locked the trap doors

"Out on the hill there",
"You can see by the tree"
"It's a horse from the Devil"
"And it's waiting for me"

Ma said "you're crazy"
"There's nothing outside"
"Least all a horse"
"That the devil would ride"

I went to the window
To check for the steed
Pa said "Don't open that up"
"That's all the room that he'll need"

"He's come from below"
"To take my soul down to hell"
"And his horse is the warning"
"I know...I can tell"

The mustang stood waiting
On the hill, all aflame
Was it devil or horse
Were they one and the same?

Pa was still shaking
He had sure had a fright
There was no way that we
Would get to sleep on this night

Pa then told Mother
Of the deal he had made
With the Devil himself
In the cool of the shade

A prosperous ranch
The envy of all around
With all of his problems
Put six feet underground

Dad said he'd reckoned
That the deal was all done
When the crops out the back
All burned up in the sun

He knew that the Devil
Was calling in for his share
When he saw the horse burning
While no one else gave a care

"I have to get through now"
"To the morning past dawn"
"Then the horse will return"
"And the deal will be gone"

We listened intently
We were sure Pa wasn't sane
But, we knew from his tale
He had nothing to gain

We'd take shifts in the night
Keeping the devil at bay
Only twelve hours to go
Until the next day

It would be an adventure
We would trust in our faith
Of dad's tale of the mustang
The flaming horse wraith

The night was a battle
The devil tried to get in
He worked on our hearts
By making deals sweet with sin

Do we turn in our father
Or do we fight till the morn?
Could it just be a ruse
Burning one field of corn?

To see how it ended
You must come out here and see
The scorch marks in the grass
On the hill by the tree

You can believe what I've written
Or hear what Pa has to say
But, it was the Devil's Mustang
Came that night for to play

that two out of three poets
write on the internet
while getting inebriated
and three of every four
people who heart a poem do
not read it
and having a dream
of making a living writing poetry
the odds are worse than
winning the lottery.

Cute innocent eyes look up,
She hugs him to her chest.
And swears to protect him.
The night scares her,
But the baby's noises
Keeps her on the move.
The sun comes up.
But she knows they are far from safe.

And here I was thinking my life got better, when it took a sharp turn for the worse.
I live in a world where people care about themselves and show others that they care for them. I live in a world were humanity is not even a word for many let alone practicing it. Here injustice flourishes and justice is looked down upon. Every cry for help goes unnoticed. Thousands don't have a family and here I have friends who sneak out of the house with their boyfriends. It leads me to think if I can go on living this life, should  I end it? Or should I change myself to suit this world.

(B)
Cacophony vocal cords turned inside out
Folding back upon themselves in cruel creases
Vibrations resonating in strained harmonies
Against the dire fabric of my delirious oblivion

(J)
I stomp your echoes as they travel through light
Unleashing my fangs to sting your roaring mess
Frequencies lowered from baseline to internal signal
To form a wave at the quilted patch you weaved

(B)
Disregard all visualized fear firmly penetrating realms
Of thickening white-hot spirit a roiling boiling crucible
Inflamed fiery fleshly folds of terminated temptations
Drawing your musky draught drinking your toxic brew

(J)
Your sight announces epiphanies of me sinking deeper
A manhood you portray is my repatriation, prepare the shovel  
Ruin me I plead! Packet and send me down to my casket
You can't stitch me, I am twitching, itching, iced in sorrows

(B)
Clawing at the world, hissing, spitting my deep disdain
My every defense mumbling, crumbling into its derelict dust
Welcoming my inevitable defeat, my tattered, blood spattered
White flag flies, surrendering all to hail the conquering pain.

(J)
The flag waves in bloodied winds, you wing wading wounds
Trying to reach snowy mountainous top, the ascending sledge
We fall inverted bumping, exposing our cranium, posing in disgust
Hold this hawk talon scratch the earth, its the only hope you hold

It is not the secrets that we should fear
but rather, that which is known

The savage cold
the howling wind and blinding snow
the unforgiving heart of Mother Russia's Winter
this is what we endure
lest we shall never be called the best

Today we have drifted slightly off course
and must pitch our tent on this mountain side
so as not to surrender valuable distance
in the tent we warm ourselves
with our bodies and small heater
we tell stories of our childhood, our families
and our sweethearts
these are the moments most cherished
moments that we take home with us
that remain forever

Just as the swirling winds are about to send us to dream,
flashes of light, the scream of some unholy machine
and the shadows of terror thrash about like demons from our worst nightmares
someone grabs the ax and begins to rip the tent
from the inside out and we run for our lives
barefoot and frightened beyond all comprehension,
beyond all logic
we run as fast we can into bitter cold and biting wind

Four were ravaged while the others were separated
and they watched us until we froze,
too panic stricken to move toward the tent where warmth awaited
perhaps the thought of an even more unbearable death
kept us there
where we were found

this is our story
known as Dyatlov Pass,
named after our leader
and harboring nine souls
who never crossed
the mountain of the dead
February 2nd, 1959

It is not the secrets that we should fear
but rather, that which is known