On the edge of the conscience

He pulled the old trick
That brings an awkward silence,
He pulled the best trick
To conceal his poetry.

A lovely dance,
Whirling under,
He is dancing
On the edge of the conscience.

In his tenacious dizziness,
Without words
Falling gently,
In a lovely summer day.

Categories: 30, writings Tags: | By Todor | July 13, 2011 @ 1:51 am

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