poems back artist cataloque


There are little bubbles of tunes born by perfect secrets,
So they roll in green emotions, they flow in waves of amour,
And it's above where they strive,
Where all is so clear and unruffled, so light and goyous...
There's a thinnest film wrapped around the surface,
around the bubles of tunes,
Suddenly it snaps and leaves a jingle to echo back.
Thousands of those bubbles, of those bells are liberrating music.
It doesn't die down.
So light are the splinters of ringing spray
that they ascend above the world.
That high within the sky they look so much like a cloud,
A white irreproachably pure one,
The one that the wind makes huddle behind the horizon,
And later that cioud turns into something different than ever,
And drops are falling down, falling down.
The fragments of beauteous balls.
Now listen once again. The waves of sounds are shining from nowhere.
It looks like a tinkling rain has dropped on the generous Earth.
And down where it touched it now some beus have grown.
A cryctal surge flows over the plain,
Its tenderness hurts, its softhess hurts.

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