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Eugene Vinogradov

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Red I've painted red again,
Black ink's used to color black,
My white linen's soaked in white wash
Added blue dye to the blue.
Antiseptic green- for green stuff,
Yellow painted yellow still
Oh, it seems so very easy:
One just came and painted life.
But the sacrifice is huge! The artist,
Giving paintings his life's breath,
Can't escape that he, with blood-red,
Must wet brushes with his soul.
Painting life continues staining
Artists' souls like dressing gowns...
While at Sotheby's, those price tags
Keep on rising every time...
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Your verse I'm reading: there's no rhyme
Its rhythm's uneven, fractured and bizarre...
Yes, but the spirit!
It's sparkling, beautiful, poetic!
It's life itself: from verbs' and to conjunctions' use!
One shall be yearning to create at once,
The rhyme and rhythm will come rushing from afar,
My poetry
Will pray to see the light, with passion, energetic...
You are a poet! But then on top of that, you are a MUSE!