Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.061 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.

Face Time

by Richard

0.2383 + 0.3061i

Drawing the boundary…

Fade, Flow'rs!

by Edmund Waller

0.1866 + 0.2732i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Face Time

by Richard

Numbers so big, they're hard to grasp,
The scale of their size, we can barely clasp.
From thousands to millions, to billions and more,
The magnitude boggles the mind, like never before.

A thousand photos, one by one,
Just over 16 minutes, they'd all be done.
Ten thousand faces, one by one, 
That's over 2 and a half hours, all said and done.

Big numbers, big numbers, so hard to comprehend.
A million, ten million, a billion round the bend.
The scale is so vast, it's hard to understand,
The sheer size of these numbers, so immense and so grand.

A hundred thousand, that's a sight to behold,
Over a day and a half, the story's been told.
A million faces, all looked at one by one,
That's 11 and a half days, the viewing's been done.

Ten million people, that's a lot to see,
Over a year and a quarter, the viewing would be.
A hundred million, almost more than believed,
That's over 11 and a half years, the time it would need.

A billion faces, one by one,
Over 31 and a half years, the viewing's been done.
The scale of these numbers is truly profound,
Comprehending their size, our minds can't quite sound.

Over 8 billion people in the world today,
To see them all one by one, it would take over 250 years, so they say.
The magnitude of these numbers is truly profound,
Comprehending their scale, our minds can't quite sound.

Fade, Flow'rs!

by Edmund Waller

Fade, Flow'rs! fade, Nature will have it so;
'Tis but what we must in our autumn do!
And as your leaves lie quiet on the ground,
The loss alone by those that lov'd them found;
So in the grave shall we as quiet lie,
Miss'd by some few that lov'd our company;
But some so like to thorns and nettles live,
That none for them can, when they perish, grieve.

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