Knowing what you don't want

To you old Dear:
I don't like people who step on flowers
Or can't enjoy a silent hour
Hate for hate sake from high towers
Will not work but take what's ours
Crush a heart, still feel inclined
To keep it chained up and close by
To push in pins till life subsides
One cannot run, nor can one hide
A prisoner. Imprisoned I.
On your isle of high tides.
Intrepid.