Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.032 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.

Misplaced Melody

by Richard

0.2888 − 0.5556i

Drawing the boundary…

Three Men of Gotham

by Thomas Love Peacock

0.2998 − 0.5258i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Misplaced Melody

by Richard

In the quiet of the evening,
when shadows start to play,
I find myself still searching
for the love that slipped away.

Oh, my love, where have you gone?
Just like my keys, misplaced so long,
I search for you in every room,
In every corner, through the gloom.

My glasses lost, my heart now blind,
In memories, I try to find,
Your gentle touch, your warm embrace,
But you're a ghost, an empty space.

Oh, my darling, I keep losing,
All the things that once felt right,
My heart is aching, ever choosing,
To seek you in the darkest night.

The days are long, the nights so cold,
Without your hand for me to hold,
I call your name, a whispered plea,
But silence is my company.

I see your smile in photographs,
I hear your voice in echoes past,
But like my keys, you’ve slipped away,
In dreams, you’re here, but cannot stay.

I've lost my way, I can't pretend,
That I don't need you, my dear friend,
In every moment, thought, and breath,
I'm searching for the love I left.

So I'll keep searching, through the years,
For all I've lost, through all my tears,
A love that echoes through my song,
Forever missing, since you’ve gone.

A love that echoes through my song,
Forever missing, since you’ve gone.

Three Men of Gotham

by Thomas Love Peacock

Seamen three! What men be ye?
Gotham's three wise men we be.
Whither in your bowl so free?
To rake the moon from out the sea.
The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
And our ballast is old wine.—
And your ballast is old wine.

Who art thou, so fast adrift?
I am he they call Old Care.
Here on board we will thee lift.
No: I may not enter there.
Wherefore so? 'Tis Jove's decree,
In a bowl Care may not be.—
In a bowl Care may not be.

Fear ye not the waves that roll?
No: in charmèd bowl we swim.
What the charm that floats the bowl?
Water may not pass the brim.
The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
And our ballast is old wine.—
And your ballast is old wine.

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