Hour after hour

An invalid, prisoner, which do you think it is?

HOUR AFTER HOUR

I lay here, hour after hour.
This is my bed now, I am told.
It does not feel like my bed.
I have a part of a closet and a dresser,
For a few of my belongings.
Where once, I had a large house,
And plenty of land.
In which to roam.
Now I am unable, to get out of this bed,
I am told, is mine.
I lay here, hour after hour,
I hear talking in the hall,
Will they come to me?
Will they be kind?
Will they smile?
They hustle and bustle,
I am jostled, this way and that.
Words are spoken, that fall on deaf ears.
I am turned, and stare at the wall,
I am covered up,
To lay here hour after hour.