I'm fairly content in my place,
things go mostly well for me
and there's hardly any trace
of what I potentially could be.

I keep myself behind strong walls
which keep the world from breaking in
and mutes potential when it calls.
I hear it but turn back within.

But at times I trace the bounds
by walking around long wall's girth
and think about those beckoning sounds
and what else there might be on earth.

On each round I pass a gate
every time at the same place.
Every time I stop and wait
perhaps with longing on my face.

This gate has no bars or locks.
The slightest nudge would open it.
Is it some kind of paradox
which keeps me from approaching it?

Today I face it once again
and hear the freedom from outside.
The hinge is fragile, the wood's thin.
Why is it every time I hide?

Free verse version :

I'm pretty happy in this place
where things go pretty well for me
although it lacks all hint
of what, with effort, I might become

But here I stay tucked safe inside
from the fearful roiling world.
But even here muted potential
whispers
but I turn

But still I walk this prison's walls
while think about those beckoning sounds
wondering what else might be.

And every time I pass this gate
and every time I stop and wait
for...what?

This gate has no locks, no bars
indeed it has begun showing cracks
Why do I hesitate?

And here I am again
before tottering gate
listening.
Why don't I open it?