Poem fractal

Side by side

Random

0.054 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.

Sarah Dewitt

by Edgar Lee Masters

−0.1090 + 1.0370i

Drawing the boundary…

The neophyte, baptized in smiles

by Dylan Thomas

−0.1487 + 1.0737i

Drawing the boundary…

The poems

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

Sarah Dewitt

by Edgar Lee Masters

Because I believed God brought him to me,
And because I believed him gifted of God
With honor, truth and love of the right,
I believed in God and worshipped God.
And then when I found he was just a thief,
And full of treasons and perjuries,
All for money and worldly pride,
The wreck of him was the wreck of God;
And so I fainted amid the ruins
Of plaster and sticks, and sat in the stillness
That followed the fallen bust of God.
Friends, it is folly to prison God
In any house that is built with hands,
In man or woman, or passionate hopes,
Or the love of Truth, or the Rock of Ages.
For all will change, deceive or crumble,
As soon as you think you have prisoned God.
For God is Proteus, and flies like magic
From earth to heaven, from hope to hope.
You never can catch Him, and this is the reason:
The game of the soul is never to find,
The game of the soul is to follow!

The neophyte, baptized in smiles

by Dylan Thomas

The neophyte, baptized in smiles,
Is laughing boy beneath his oath,
Breathing no poison from the oval mouth,
Or evil from the cankered heart.
Where love is there’s a crust of joy 
To hide what drags its belly from the egg,
And, on the ground, gyrates as easily
As though the sun were spinning up through it.
Boy sucks no sweetness from the willing mouth,
Nothing but poison from the breath,
And, in the grief of certainty,
Knows his love rots.
Outdo your prude’s genetic faculty
That grew for good
Out of the bitter conscience and the nerves,
Not from the senses’ dualizing tip
Of water, flame, or air.
Wetten your tongue and lip,
Moisten your care to carelessness,
For she who sprinkled on your brow
Soft shining symbols of her peace with you,
Was old when you were young,
Old in illusions turned to acritudes,
And thoughts, be they so kind,
Touched, by a finger’s nail, to dust.

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