Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.021 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…

Fated!

by Philip Bourke Marston

−0.4783 + 0.3170i

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

Fated!

by Philip Bourke Marston

Stand, fated house, forevermore, alone!
Stand, 'mid thy barren gardens, wild, and swept
By winds that wailing through thy trees have kept
The tune of grief. Be thou of joy unknown:
For in thy walls, now dank with oozing stone,
My lady turned her face from me and wept,
And gave me her last parting kiss, and slept
The sleep from which none wake to laugh or moan.

The summer misbecomes thee, O dread house!
Glad songs of birds sound alien in thy boughs!
Death keeps thy doors, thy passages are full
Of ghosts that sorrow makes not beautiful.
Forlorn, barred, silent — keep thy secret well,
That none who pass may guess what thou could'st tell.

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