Vrubel And John

The greatest master, supercolorist, And monumental Mega-symbolist, But within radius of two street blocks The magic of his crystal doesn't work. And by his cubes - as by the strangest strokes Inside your brain begets flashes of light, And with the giant birds you suddenly fly and see the circular rocks in the sky. They are tremedous thunderous to you, Convert you instantly into an ant, and with conviction you will know for sure - there're Higher worlds with lightnings and goosebumps. There is unearthly Mega-Beauty there, And Majesty, and your soul suddenly is kissing it, as if in revelation, as higher harmonies in one eye blink. Your Soul - as combination of his colors: whenever rocks, or foliage, one more smear, and as the lilies of the flaming sunsets - All Colors combination as the wimples. And suddenly you come to realize: You are - a painting! And you call his name, To the Lord or just someone to explain: Who wrote this? who's frozen there inside? And who is chasing you everywhere now - painting and sculpture? Wonder will impact: Who may create it all and be so high? Only the White light - John will light it up.