O sweet desire, thou art a fickle flame,
A force that doth both bless and curse our days,
Thou art a fire that we cannot tame,
A passion that doth drive us in so many ways.
When we desire that which we cannot attain,
Thou art the cause of our unending pain,
And though we may resist thy sweet refrain,
Thou still dost linger like a darkened stain.
We seek to quell thy burning flame,
And find the peace that comes with rest,
But thou art like the wind, forever untamed,
A restless force that doth our hearts infest.
Oh, Desire thou art a fickle friend,
That blesses and curses with equal measure,
Yet, we cannot help but seek thee till the end,
For thou art at the very essence of life's pleasure.
Wrote this poem a couple of months ago for a homework assignment (was inspired by King Lear). Tweaked it a little bit and, Voila! I'm pretty rubbish at contemporary poetry for some reason, so most of my poems use Early-Modern English just to let y'all know.