Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.052 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.

Echoes of Elara

by Richard

0.1242 + 0.8111i

Drawing the boundary…

The Court of True Honour

by William Drummond

0.1392 + 0.8606i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Echoes of Elara

by Richard

In the shadows of our memories, where the twilight gently falls,
I see your face, a fleeting trace, in the echoes of these halls.
You were my starlight, my guiding flame, in the darkness of my night,
Now I'm left with whispers, shadows and a ghostly, fading light.

Elara, can you hear me calling through the rain?
Elara, can you feel the sorrow and the pain?
In the silence, I remember all we shared,
Elara, in my heart, you're still there.

We danced upon the precipice, where the edge met the abyss,
Every touch, a sweet caress, every word, a tender kiss.
But time, it has no mercy, it steals away the dreams,
Now I'm lost in endless searching, through the fragments of our schemes.

The photographs are fading, the letters turning grey,
But the love we had still lingers, it will never slip away.
Though the seasons keep on changing, and the years may come and go,
Elara, in my soul, you'll forever glow.

In the whispers of the night-time, in the dawn's first tender light,
I hear your voice, a haunting song, calling through the night.
Though the world keeps on turning, and new loves come to play,
In the corners of my heart, you'll always stay.

Elara, my eternal, my sweet serenade,
Though you've gone, the love remains, it will never fade.
Elara, in the echoes of our past,
You'll be my first, my only, my last.

The Court of True Honour

by William Drummond

Why (worldlings) do ye trust fraile honours dreams?
And leane to guilted Glories which decay?
Why doe yee toyle to registrate your Names
On icie Pillars, which soone melt away?
True Honour is not heere, that place it clames,
Where blacke-brow'd Night doth not exile the Day,
Nor no farre-shining Lamp dives in the Sea,
But an eternall Sunne spreades lasting Beames:
There it attendeth you, where spotlesse Bands
Of Spirits, stand gazing on their Soveraigne Blisse,
Where yeeres not hold it in their canckring hands,
But who once noble, ever noble is.
Looke home, lest hee your weakned Wit make thrall,
Who Edens foolish Gardner earst made fall.

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