Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.039 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.

Plastic Crowns

by Richard

−0.4897 + 0.3345i

Drawing the boundary…

Planting

by T. E. Brown

−0.4869 + 0.3735i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Plastic Crowns

by Richard

Felt like a king with an army, always there
Under city lights, the bonds seemed so tight
But shadows whispered truths, hidden from my sight

Blindly trusted hearts, tales of loyalty proclaimed
Never saw the cracks, until the light of shame

I thought I had it all, a close circle of friends
We'd laugh until dawn, have each other’s backs, through thick and thin
But when the tide turned rough, and I needed them the most
They vanished in the night, leaving me like a ghost

I believed they had my back, always by my side
Turns out they were just pretending, with secrets to hide
When the going got tough, they scattered in the wind
Left me feeling lost, my trust wearing thin

Won't be fooled by their plastic crowns
Rise above the ashes, with newfound strength I'm found
Real connections waiting to be made
Open my heart, where true loyalty's displayed

Now I see their friendship was never truly real
They kept a running score, my worth they’d try to steal
Always judging my flaws, never lifting me high
Leaving me drained, as they silently passed by

It hurts to let go, to acknowledge the pain
But I'm better off now, free from their toxic chain
I'll focus on healing, on finding my way
To friendships that uplift, come what may
Yearning for connections, built on trust and care

So I'll keep my heart open, my eyes wide awake
Seeking out true friends, no longer a mistake
No more false pretences, or half-hearted care
I know what I deserve, and real love will be there

Planting

by T. E. Brown

Who would be planted chooseth not the soil,
Or here or there,
Or loam or peat,
Wherein he best may grow
And bring forth guerdon of the planter's toil—
The lily is most fair,
But says not:— "I will only blow
Upon a southern land"; the cedar makes no coil
What rock shall owe
The springs that wash his feet;
The crocus cannot arbitrate the foil
That for its purple radiance is most meet—
Lord, even so
I ask one prayer,
The which if it be granted,
It skills not where
Thou plantest me, only I would be planted.

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