Median

Touch the Earth and feel the Heaven -
frankly, there's not much to borrow.
Hope is setting higher level
in the shadow of tomorrow.

Smell the mold of dreadful findings
on your swampy path to nowhere.
Night is knitting webs and binding
scattered memories. Get lower

to the floor of very basic
thoughts that drift around the senses.
Drop your petals, dying daisy
out of broken vase that frenzies

with the rain thru opened shutters
(finding what they have in common!)
Fact that nothing really matters
will embed us into coma.

Who will dare to make prediction
where's the line that marks the middle?
Speed of light is quite addictive
but we haven't moved a needle.

Still we are a bit euphoric
swinging at the distant edges.
Quirky places, strange and foreign
make us laugh in certain stages

of the life that pierced with axis
of abandoned lonely planet.
In sub worlds of parallaxes
median equates the laments...