An Anxious Aspie's Interpretation & Decoration of Poetical Ideas, Messages, Information and Resources.

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Little log cabin

The afternoon sun,

slightly smoked,

sneaking into the mysterious cabin,

floating dust half awakened,

listening to the discourse,

of the warm genial wind,

and the sound of clarinet,

green shadows,

heavy outside the window,

stacked layers,


turning into clouds,

joyous birds,

waving curtains,

inviting the wind,

broken light swimming,

people walking,

past the window,

a fine limpid period,

walking and flowing,

amidst the foliage,

a quiet poem,

poured onto the gloomy wall.




Looking for a dream,

in this sobriety,

without a moment to spare,

no radar,

no map,

it has an unlimited power,

no scruples,

no misgivings,

the hazy destination,

mirrored in the mind,

a tactful story,

an auditory hallucination,

too abstruse,


full of unreachable endings,


with all strength and might,


in a vague reverie,


a spiritual paradise.


A quiet night

Quiet night,

calming the noisy heart,

a thousand thoughts,

a million feelings,

dispersed by the soft gentle breeze,

the bright and clean moonlight,

flowing slowly on the earth,

soft leaves,

redolent blossoms,

spheres of coruscating dews lying on top,

like elves at midnight,

glistening with silver specks,

dismaying the sleeping magpies in the tree,

in the night sky,

arousing bursts of dings and echoes.

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