Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.055 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.

There Are No Gods

by Edgar A. Guest

−0.6450 − 0.3281i

Drawing the boundary…

See, says the lime

by Dylan Thomas

−0.6974 − 0.3103i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

There Are No Gods

by Edgar A. Guest

There are no gods that bring to youth
The rich rewards that stalwarts claim;
The god of fortune is in truth
A vision and an empty name.
The toiler who through doubt and care
Unto his goal and victory plods,
With no one need his glory share:
He is himself his favoring gods.

There are no gods that will bestow
Earth's joys and blessings on a man.
Each one must choose the path he'll go,
Then win from it what joy he can.
And he that battles with the odds
Shall know success, but he who waits
The favors of the mystic gods,
Shall never come to glory's gates.

No man is greater than his will;
No gods to him will lend a hand!
Upon his courage and his skill
The record of his life must stand.
What honors shall befall to him,
What he shall claim of fame or pelf,
Depend not on the favoring whim
Of fortune's god, but on himself.

See, says the lime

by Dylan Thomas

See, says the lime, my wicked milks
I put round ribs that packed their heart,
And elbowed veins that, nudging blood,
Roused it to fire;
Once in this clay fenced by the sticks
That starry fence the clay of light
The howling spirit shaped a god
Of death’s undoer.

On these blue lips, the lime remarks,
The wind of kisses sealed a pact
That leaping veins threw to the wind
And brains turned sour;
The blood got up as red as wax
As kisses froze the waxing thought,
The spirit racked its muscles and
The loins cried murder.

The strings of fire choked his sex
And tied an iris in his throat
To burst into a hanging land
Where flesh’s fever
Itched on the hangman’s silks;
The brains of death undid the knot
Before the blood and flame were twined
In love’s last collar.

See, says the lime, around these wrecks 
Of growing bones the muscles slid ;
I chalked upon the breastbone’s slate
And ran a river
Up through the fingers’ cracks;
The milk of death, I filled the hand
That drove my stuff through skin and gut;
Death’s death’s undoer.

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