Dreadful is the night
this lack of light
this night of corpses
my wish to die
that growls into a voice
of flesh and bones
into a grim perplexing laughter
to alter or to anger,
before the miracle of magic amber
comforts me with this,
it’s gentle hush
of dawn.
And they still won’t go by Francisco Goya
Linked to toads for the thirteenth day of April poetry.
—-
April 13, 2020
Björn Rudbergs writings 
I can see that sun, rising at the end… so bright and welcome after the dark.
A lovely comfort – and not a moment too soon.
“a grim perplexing laughter
to alter or to anger,
before the miracle of magic amber
comforts me with this,”
This is incredibly powerful writing, Bjorn! Wowww!! 💝💝
I’ve always thought amber had magical properties and have a few pieces in silver. I adore the image of the sun rising as a ‘miracle of magic amber’ and the ‘gentle hush of dawn’ Björn, at the end of a long night.
Wonderful movement from dark to the amber dawn. Fear is dispelled with the waking day.
Some nights are haunted like this. You describe beautifully the horror and the thankful escape ❣️👍🙏
Searing and powerful! And ultimately, hopeful!
Somehow you reconcile both life and death here, and indeed, that is the kind of time we seem to be in, where one bleeds into the other too seamlessly, terrifyingly, but also remotely til it actually touches our own flesh. Dawn is a comfort but also the herald of more insanity. Good to read you my friend, even in the time of plague.
I love how it moved from darkness of a night of corpses to the amber light of morning’s hope
The hope in the rising of the sun…that amazing orb of amber that is forever present, if only on another side of the earth.
Part of that dream bears analysis. Dreams are messengers, and these corpses have something to say that you need to know.
You are a true wordsmith.