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.

Through Her Eyes

by Richard

0.2406 − 0.2901i

Drawing the boundary…

Rest Only in the Grave

by James Clarence Mangan

0.2554 − 0.3047i

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.

Rest Only in the Grave

by James Clarence Mangan

I rode till I reached the House of Wealth—
'Twas filled with Riot and blighted health.

I rode till I reached the House of Love—
'Twas vocal with sighs beneath and above!

I rode till I reached the House of Sin—
There were shrieks and curses without and within.

I rode till I reached the House of Toil—
Its inmates had nothing to bake or boil.

I rode in search of the House of Content,
But never could reach it, far as I went!

The House of Quiet, for Strong and Weak,
And Poor and Rich, I have still to seek.

This House is narrow, and dark, and small,
But the only Peaceful House of all.

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