Police Man on a White Horse
At dawnthe pale horseman arrivesin silencethrough the fieldsdragging in its shadowdemons and brutes, and as deathit smotherswith sickness and swordthe morning mirthof bedrooms and kitchens, and In its wakecorpses are […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
The cold moon’s tale
Underneath —were earthworms windaround the bonesof decomposing bodiesone skeletal fingerremains accusingpointing skywards. A declaring digitgiving evidence againstthe assassin witha spadefor digging graves. But will the cold moonever tell the taleon […]
To be measured?
My love can not be measuredin the bloom of roses red orin the sweetness of a summer cherry,but as an artichoke in autumn. My love is not as a breeze […]
Faithfully
As soon as I told my first lie, I could never go back. I had to cover up my stories with layers of deceit. Contradictions had to be covered with […]
Windlashed
In windlashed rainwe bendto struggle windwardfor ideas,new perceptions,to connect the reasonwith its cause;so when we findthe doors we knowmuch betterthan before. Today I host Open Link at dVerse, and as […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 