You are the fair Ophelia,
Drowned in a bed of water lilies.
In this horrid place I am
Transported by you to those
Wondrous lands of legend.
Night after night I gaze upon you;
You shine more brilliantly
Than even the brightest star.
My love, you are a dream to me,
I adore everything you are.
My dear Juliet,
I will make Romeo jealous of our pure and
Sweet passion. Offstage you are
As radiant and joyful to behold
Than the finest of fashion.
But you disappoint me.
Suddenly an empty vessel.
No longer are you Ophelia
Or Cordelia or even the once
Innocent Juliet. You are nothing.
The stage was where you shone,
Where you lived and died.
You were exquisite art,
A beauty to witness and
Now you grow dull, lifeless.
Your begging is unbecoming
Of the maidens you pretend to be
I now see the error
Of misplaced affection, my love;
No... not ‘my love’. You are nothing to me.
Those maidens were more real
Than you. To follow in the footsteps
Of the fair Ophelia is commendable.
You regain your radiance,
You are once again a work of art.