Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.047 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.

Through Her Eyes

by Richard

0.2406 − 0.2901i

Drawing the boundary…

The Lost Mistress

by Robert Browning

0.2200 − 0.3322i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Through Her Eyes

by Richard

She had eyes like the morning sky,
Now they're staring back at me, asking why,
Every smile she shows, every laugh she makes,
I see your face in those sweet mistakes.

I can still hear your voice in the breeze,
Whispering secrets through the trees,
And though you're gone, you're never far,
I see your reflection in our little star.

Oh, I miss you, love, with every beat,
But in our girl, your heart's still sweet,
In her eyes, I see your light,
Guiding me through the darkest night.

She asks about you when the stars are bright,
With her tiny hands in the soft moonlight,
I tell her tales of your gentle grace,
And see your ghost in her tender face.

Memories haunt me in the dead of night,
But her laughter brings a ray of light,
She's my anchor, she's my guide,
A piece of you that never died.

Sometimes the pain's too much to bear,
But her smile cuts through the despair,
She’s a beacon, she’s my guide,
A living proof that you survived.

She draws your picture with colours bright,
Says you're the angel in the night,
And when I hold her close, I hold you too,
Through her laughter, I find you.

So, we carry on, in this endless fight,
With a love that holds us tight,
Through her, you live, through her, you stay,
In our hearts, come what may.

The Lost Mistress

by Robert Browning

All's over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that, to-day;
One day more bursts them open fully
—You know the red turns grey.

To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest?
May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we,—well, friends the merest
Keep much that I resign:

For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart's endeavour,—
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever!—

Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
Or so very little longer!

—
—
0:00
0:00
Track 1
Skip to main content