Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.023 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.

Lottery Addict

by Richard

−0.0451 − 0.2373i

Drawing the boundary…

To Others Than You

by Dylan Thomas

−0.0452 − 0.2142i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Lottery Addict

by Richard

I buy my ticket every week,
My rational mind, it takes a backseat,
They say I've got no chance, the odds are slim,
But you’ve got to be in it, to ever win.

I see the winners on TV,
They're just like me, it could be me,
But I don't see the countless souls,
Who’ve thrown their money in the hole.

If it’s so easy, then why do we wait?
With rollovers stacking, it’s a tempting bait,
A win could change my life, I believe it’s true,
But the money I’ve lost could have changed it too.

It's a tax on the poor, a fool's delight,
A game of chance that fills the night,
I know I'm one, both poor and dumb,
Yet every week, here I come.

The numbers spin, they taunt my brain,
The odds, they dance, drive me insane,
More likely to be hit, crossing the street,
But my heart skips a beat, with every heat.

We can’t grasp the chance, the odds so vast,
But hope springs eternal, as long as it lasts,
We dream of a future, a fortune's embrace,
Blind to the math, it's a desperate chase.

I see the numbers, they blur and blend,
But still I play, and I pretend,
That someday soon, my luck will turn,
But deep inside, my doubts still burn.

Yet here I stand, ticket in hand,
Hoping for that promised land,
Ignoring the truth, the bitter pain,
That my dreams are just a gambler's game.

I’m a lottery addict, chasing a lie,
With dreams so high, and odds so shy,
Every ticket bought, a hope anew,
In this endless game, I see it through.

To Others Than You

by Dylan Thomas

Friend by enemy I call you out.

You with a bad coin in your socket,
You my friend there with a winning air
Who palmed the lie on me when you looked
Brassily at my shyest secret,
Enticed with twinkling bits of the eye
Till the sweet tooth of my love bit dry,
Rasped at last, and I stumbled and sucked,
Whom now I conjure to stand as thief
In the memory worked by mirrors,
With unforgettably smiling act,
Quickness of hand in the velvet glove
And my whole heart under your hammer,
Were once such a creature, so gay and frank
A desireless familiar
I never thought to utter or think
While you displaced a truth in the air,

That though I loved them for their faults
As much as for their good,
My friends were enemies on stilts
With their heads in a cunning cloud.

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