We often make prisoners, of ourselves,
Choosing deep links with another,
Flaws, an illusion beyond our vision,
Love, fulfilling a lifelong yearning,
Emotional secrets hidden in small-print,
That we scan, absorb, then just ignore,
Sometimes, we resist the obvious truth,
For deep within, we like our little prisons,
They feel safe, a secure lie, sometimes,
Our hearts know, yes, and we are aware,
It really matters not, if one is happy,
Love is happiness, consuming all we are,
Our hearts are captured, oh, and minds,
An uncomplaining convict is content,  
We often make prisoners, of ourselves.

©Paul M Chafer 2016