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Feather and paper
Angel made of glass
Boy and angel
As lilies white
Poetry - glass
Will be another day
I would have a sip of sky. Or first day of autumn
Everything is invented
Again poems about autumn
New Year's milk
Aquarium with skalares
Landscape to Birthday
I will keep silent
Man and woman
On the other side of the rainbow
Morning of Sappho
To Nadezhda Voronova's picture
Good and evil
Man and woman
Nastya. Winter image
The woman – clean standard sheet. The man – a feather. Paper will readily accept words, thoughts, feelings, images entrusted to it by a feather. Paper is capable to store, glorify and immortalize carefully what is entrusted to it by a feather.
Paper will forgive blots and mistakes. Paper will give the chance to correct the crossed-out lines. Paper, like white wings, with pleasure will uplift an gist to the sun, expressed on her clean heart by a feather. There is no fertile field, than clean heart of paper. The union of a feather and paper generates the richest shoots, but only when all letters are entitled by words – "I love you".
Not having flesh and therefore feeling pain. With chasms instead of eyes and therefore all-seeing. Having immense cruelty and therefore gives lives. Touchingly merciful and therefore killing. Silent and therefore all-knowing. All-knowing and therefore silent. Great to incomprehensible. Incomprehensible to great. Dominating over a thought and subject only to a thought. Forever living and therefore knowing death. Knowing death and therefore forever living.
Golden month has painted light of beauty of night. As the darkness which has contained light is fine! The glass angel standing on a window sill has been surrounded with an aura of light reflected in him. As if live, as if animated, he trumpet the anthem in the small horn to light. Heart of darkness – light. Who has believed in darkness, in this phantom, the myth? Darkness doesn't exist. There is no darkness. Also as there is no death. Darkness – a canvas under light paints. Death – a step to new life. The angel made of glass will sometime break, but light filled him once, is eternal. And the anthem that it is played on a small horn, will always sound.
He was white and airy.
She was a burning brunette.
She built for him fire.
He gave her rains.
She has disappeared round the corner a wonderful tower.
He became in the afternoon and everywhere looked for her.
She exhaled stars from sparks, knowing that he