Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.006 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.

Keeper of Our Days

by Richard

0.5167 − 0.4186i

Drawing the boundary…

Mediocrity in Love Rejected

by Thomas Carew

0.5182 − 0.4131i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Keeper of Our Days

by Richard

By the fireplace we sit each night,
With albums old and frayed,
I hold your hand, so cold and light,
As memories start to fade.
Your eyes, they wander, lost in time,
Where once they saw our love,
Now trapped within a maze so blind,
But still, I won’t give up.

Though the years have worn us down,
And your mind’s a distant shore,
I’ll hold on to the love we found,
Even if you remember no more.
I’ll be the keeper of our days,
In every photo, every song,
Though your mind may drift away,
My heart will keep you strong.

Your voice, a whisper, barely there,
Of times when you were my guide,
Now I’m the one who has to care,
Through every storm, every tide.
These hands, so weak, with every touch,
Try to turn back the years,
But how can love be held so much,
When faced with endless tears?

I see the man you used to be,
In every faded frame,
A pillar, rock, my sanctuary,
Before it all became a game.
With every jar I cannot twist,
Every step that brings me pain,
I fight against the cruel mist,
That tries to take you away again.

One day soon, I know we’ll part,
And I’ll have to let you go,
But I’ll carry you within my heart,
Where our love will always grow.
So here’s to us, my darling dear,
In every tear, in every sigh,
For though you fade, I’ll keep you near,
Our love will never die.

Mediocrity in Love Rejected

by Thomas Carew

Give me more Love, or more Disdain;
The Torrid, or the Frozen zone
Bring equall ease unto my paine;
The Temperate affords me none:
Either extreme, of Love, or Hate,
Is sweeter than a calme estate.

Give me a storme; if it be Love,
Like Danae in that golden showre
I swim in pleasure; if it prove
Disdain, that Torrent will devour
My vulture-hopes; and he’s possest
Of Heaven, that’s but from Hell releast:
Then crown my joyes, or cure my pain;
Give me more Love, or more Disdain.

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