Heart is Captive

We are captives of our feeling Drifting where it's pleasing. Missing? Looped roads and trees, Or warmth of skeptic companies? Living on surface- faking breathing Placing rigorous limits on loving. So, is there a corner you're living? Not wearing skins nor weathering Enveloped in amor- as pure as lilies. Why to press the oldest writings blindly? As a fragmented phrase is yet to complete "The home is where our heart is". But the heart is where our feelings Not like an anchor, waving- leaving. Drifting where it's pleasing.