Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.023 apart. A smaller distance means the lines are built more alike.

This number is read from the build of the lines. The bright edge is that number, carried outward until the pattern repeats.

Twenty-five thousand days

by Richard

−0.2783 − 0.4704i

Drawing the boundary…

Nocturne

by Gerald Griffin

−0.3010 − 0.4733i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

Each poem scrolls on its own, so the two texts stay beside each other.

Twenty-five thousand days

by Richard

From the silence of my grave
I count the cost of fortunes made
A lifetime chasing shiny things
Now death its final audit brings

Six feet under, cold and still
Wealth I hoarded, now bequeathed
Chased those dollars with iron will
Left behind, no fortune beneath

Twenty-five thousand days, all we get
More precious than gold, our only asset
Time's the true wealth we fail to see
Now it's too late for a spending spree

Invested all in golden dreams
Forgot to cash in moments plenty
Nature's beauty, unseen by me
Family dinners, chair left empty

If I could again balance life's ledger
I'd invest in joy, and not be a hedger
The richest aren't those who make the most
They're those who of much time could boast

Time's the true currency, spend it well
Stories shared are wealth to tell
In this vault of earth, one truth remains
The true profit of life lies not in gains

Nocturne

by Gerald Griffin

Sleep that like the couched dove
Broods o'er the weary eye,
Dreams that with soft heavings move
The heart of memory,
Labor's guerdon, golden rest,
Wrap thee in its downy vest, —
Fall like comfort on thy brain
And sing the hush song to thy pain!

Far from thee be startling fears,
And dreams the guilty dream;
No banshee scare thy drowsy ears
With her ill-omen'd scream;
But tones of fairy minstrelsy
Float like the ghosts of sound o'er thee,
Soft as the chapel's distant bell,
And lull thee to a sweet farewell.

Ye for whom the ashy hearth
The fearful housewife clears,
Ye whose tiny sounds of mirth
The nighted carman hears,
Ye whose pygmy hammers make
The wonderers of the cottage wake,
Noiseless be your airy flight,
Silent as the still moonlight.

Silent go, and harmless come,
Fairies of the stream:
Ye, who love the winter gloom
Or the gay moonbeam,
Hither bring your drowsy store
Gather'd from the bright lusmore;
Shake o'er temples, soft and deep,
The comfort of the poor man, sleep.

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