Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.013 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.

Your pain shall be a music

by Dylan Thomas

0.2078 − 0.5297i

Drawing the boundary…

The Merchant's Tale

by Richard

0.2204 − 0.5313i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Your pain shall be a music

by Dylan Thomas

Your pain shall be a music in your string
And fill the mouths of heaven with your tongue
Your pain shall be
O my unborn
A vein of mine
Made fast by me.

Your string shall stretch a gully twixt the thumbs
Whose flaming blood shall rub it at the rims
Your pain shall be
O my unsown
A ragged vein
Twixt you and me.

Your pain shall be a meaning in your lips
As milk shall be a music in the paps
Your pain shall be
O my unknown
A stream of mine
Not milked by me.

Your pain shall not unmilk you of the food
That drops to make a music in your blood
Your pain shall be
O my undone
Flesh blood and bone
Surrounding me.

The Merchant's Tale

by Richard

Old January, wealthy knight,
Thought he’d wed to his delight,
He chose a bride so young and fair,
A maiden named May, with golden hair.

Oh, January, don't you see,
Young May’s not what she seems to be,
With plans so bold and tricks so sly,
This tale will leave you wondering why!

They married in a grand affair,
With food and wine beyond compare,
But January was old and blind,
While May had something else in mind.

Young Damian, a squire sweet,
Caught May’s eye, oh what a treat,
They whispered secrets, planned their game,
While January, none the wiser, lame.

In the garden lush and green,
May and Damian were oft seen,
They climbed a tree, the game was set,
For a tryst that none would soon forget.

Blinded knight, he stood below,
While May and Damian’s love did grow,
Suddenly his sight returned anew,
Caught them in the act, it’s true!

May cried out, a clever dame,
“It’s for your sight, I’m not to blame,
I wrestled with the squire so dear,
To bring your vision back, my dear!”

So if you wed a maiden young,
And think your life will be so sung,
Remember January’s tale of woe,
And be wary, lest your sight you throw!

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