Cordelia vs the New World

“Cordelia Versus the New World Order”

Turning and turning in the widening gyre, you
can't feel the pull of the world.  The people are
revolting with an ironic passion, leaving my
eyes widened in fear.  For no one
wants to sing, to feel.  Nothing is beautiful,
nothing is safe, because nothing is truth.

The eye of the beholder is the pick-up line for a truth
that's as hollow as the Brand New Hope.  "You
must leave yourself, for you are nothing but relation, a beautiful
condition dependant on everything but yourself." Are
the days of screaming on the heath, of one
last grasp for redemption, lost in a disinterested "my, oh my?"

Is this truly the Enlightened Age? Is my
salvation to be found in the metaphor of a truth
unkowable and undefineable, where one
is but a billboard for a comfortable void?  Where "you"
are nothing but a singular subjective, and love and faith and hope are
kept between dust covers.  How can there be beauty if nothing is beautiful?

But not you.  You rise above it and make beautiful
this mess.  The song in your eyes weakens my
knees and lets me kneel.  Your hands and feet are
miracles, saving me below the din.  You are the one truth
I can believe in, because it was you
who first believed in me, my lovely one.

Comparison is pointless.  You are the only one
whose story will soar above the art of apathy, a beautiful
myth that leads the broken to flight.  You
don't (can't) listen when they praise nothing, filling my
ears with ironicdetachmentandnothingisrealbutonlyinmetaphor.  The truth
is, I'm mired among their detritus, reaching to touch everything you are.

Sorrow and grief are not strangers to you.  They are
the price, the companions of a heart that bleeds so readily.  One
that would stop beating before denying the Truth:
a heart that hurts is a heart that is beautiful.
Ma fille jolie.  Mi canción bella.  My
soul.  It is, and always has been (yours) you.

You are my beautiful,
eternal one.  My
only truth is you.


[2004]