Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.012 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.

In the beginning

by Dylan Thomas

−0.5967 + 0.0614i

Drawing the boundary…

Perhaps

by John Van Alstyne Weaver

−0.5927 + 0.0728i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

In the beginning

by Dylan Thomas

In the beginning was the three-pointed star,
One smile of light across the empty face;
One bough of bone across the rooting air,
The substance forked that marrowed the first sun;
And, burning ciphers on the round of space,
Heaven and hell mixed as they spun.

In the beginning was the pale signature,
Three-syllabled and starry as the smile;
And after came the imprints on the water,
Stamp of the minted face upon the moon;
The blood that touched the crosstree and the grail
Touched the first cloud and left a sign.

In the beginning was the mounting fire
That set alight the weathers from a spark,
A three-eyed, red-eyed spark, blunt as a flower;
Life rose and spouted from the rolling seas,
Burst in the roots, pumped from the earth and rock
The secret oils that drive the grass.

In the beginning was the word, the word
That from the solid bases of the light
Abstracted all the letters of the void;
And from the cloudy bases of the breath
The word flowed up, translating to the heart
First characters of birth and death.

In the beginning was the secret brain.
The brain was celled and soldered in the thought
Before the pitch was forking to a sun;
Before the veins were shaking in their sieve,
Blood shot and scattered to the winds of light
The ribbed original of love.

Perhaps

by John Van Alstyne Weaver

Perhaps it were far better not to know
Beauty. Perhaps one should not ever see
The moonlight shedding silver on a tree;
Or apple-bloom. Perhaps one should not go
Where Spring may thrust her little swords of green
Through strongest armor; nor smell birchen leaves
Smould'ring to incense; nor receive the keen
Flicks of a breeze that stirs the new-bound sheaves.

Perhaps one should but guess how two may stand
Merging their spirits by the clasp of hand
In hand, while in their inmost hearts they hear
A far-off swooning music drawing near….

Perhaps he is more fortunate, who goes
Dreaming and wondering, and never knows.

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