Deirdre Powell, Editor's Thoughts, Poetry

Desire by Deirdre Powell

0 Comments 03 March 2012

Maybe it is not the object of desire that makes the person go nuts, maybe it is the desire itself. Desire in its own form is a monster. It embeds concupiscent emotion. On occasion the physical object itself will never live up to the expectation of the mind’s fantasy however the longing for desire will transform itself into the object. When desire is fully obtained or at the very least begins to lay dormant, never fear, it is always there lurking in the shadows of our minds finding ways to penetrate and poison our minds.

Desire embeds dirty and seedy thoughts of destruction making people do things that in their normal frame of mind they would otherwise consider. Desire is therefore life’s Dutch courage. It has a profusion of patience. It will sit around for as long as it takes tapping its fingers and waits to be called upon.

Desire should never be underestimated. It will call on its friends lust and longing and they together will consummate; making an abundance of unwavering thoughts with sleepless nights filled with burning emptiness. Together they are unstoppable. The yearning will eventually take over the respectable mind of the questioned and soon a downward sloop of drinking and analyzing will be a daily ritual. Desire messes with the mind distorting very day thoughts, pushing the limits of our inner demons.

Desire has it place. Without its essence some of the greatest works would have never been created. Possibly the soul must have a nagged sufferance to ignite passion and pain to unhinge a muse deep within our persons. Desire sits opposite of the mundane and laughs in its face.


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