Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.027 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.

Houston, we've had a problem

by Richard

0.0189 − 0.6005i

Drawing the boundary…

O thou dread Power, who reign'st above!

by Robert Burns

0.0135 − 0.6265i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Houston, we've had a problem

by Richard

Flames pierce the sky, Apollo's might,
Three men bound for lunar light.
Lovell, Swigert, Haise in flight,
Dreams of footprints, stars so bright.

"Houston, we've had a problem here."
Silence. Then, "Say again, please."
"Houston, we've had a problem."
Hearts skip a beat, time seems to freeze.

Soaring high, a celestial dance,
Suddenly alarms advance.
Oxygen fades, a deathly trance,
Mission's fate hangs by a chance.

"Houston, we're losing air up here."
"Copy that. Stay calm, we're near."
"Roger, Houston. Standing by."
Engineers race, solutions fly.

Ground control's minds in overdrive,
Ingenuity keeps hope alive.
Power rationed, makeshift repair,
Aquarius cradles them with care.

"Houston, progress, but dangers loom."
"Understood. We'll beat this doom."
"Affirmative. We're holding strong."
Earth and crew - where they belong.

'Round the moon, so cold and grey,
Home a jewel, so far away.
Air grows thick, supplies run low,
Determination's ember glows.

"Houston, we're fighting for our lives."
"Courage, men. Your family strives."
"Copy that. We won't give in."
A nation prays, hopes wearing thin.

Re-entry burns, a fiery test,
Ocean welcomes, ending quest.
Three emerge from capsule's shell,
A story of survival to tell.

"Okay, Houston... we're home at last."
"Welcome back. Ordeal has passed."
Apollo 13, a triumph true,
Of human spirit, tried and new.

O thou dread Power, who reign'st above!

by Robert Burns

O thou dread Power, who reign'st above!
I know thou wilt me hear,
When for this scene of peace and love
I make my prayer sincere.

The hoary sire—the mortal stroke,
Long, long, be pleased to spare;
To bless his filial little flock
And show what good men are.

She who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears,
O, bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears!

Their hope—their stay—their darling youth,
In manhood's dawning blush—
Bless him, thou GOD of love and truth,
Up to a parent's wish!

The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I pray,
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry hand—
Guide Thou their steps alway.

When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost,
A family in Heaven!

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