Resurrection

Do not condemn me for the fire
That lives inside my raging heart,
For I’m burning with desire--
The flame that’s tearing me apart.

You stand--a flower before me--
A vision of that perfect grace,
And all my senses can’t restore me,
Can’t wake me from your lovely face.

But sadness slowly overtakes me,
I feel the earth beneath my feet,
I feel it pulling me--it breaks me,
My heart can feel its every beat.

Each day, each night I weep and toil
To reunite with you again--
A vision pure and unsoiled,
An end to agony and pain.

But years move on, the body ages,
The eyes grow weak, the image fades,
The spirit no longer rages,
And death comes like a sudden blade.

What purpose serves the endless craving?
Why do we touch, embrace or kiss?
Why all the writing, all the slaving?
Why love?  Why beauty that we miss?

I sing, I sing to you, O angel,
You have defied all space and time,
My spirit torn, my throat strangled,
I sing without sense or rhyme.

The sky is split, behold the glory!
Burn in the scarlet flames of light!
I’m a man, my hands are gory,
I’ve seen the shadows of the night.

There lies a purpose to this fire,
To that sweet rapture of the fight,
For in the struggle of desire
The spirit rises from the night.
 

                                    August 5, 1989
                                 --Alexander Shaumyan