hour after hour

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
guess what you feel the poem is about. appreciate feedback. thank you.

Submitted: September 21, 2016

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Submitted: September 21, 2016



I lay here, hour after hour.

This is my bed now, I am told.

It does not feel like my bed.

A one-sided closet and a dresser,

with a few belongings, is all I have.

Where once I had a large house,

and land to roam.

Now I am unable to get out of this bed,

they say is mine.

I lay here hour after hour,

No one visits, I don't understand.

Will they come to me?

Will they be kind?

Will they smile?

They hustle and bustle,

I am turned.

The blank wall stares back at me.

I am locked in this mindless prison,

as I lay here,

hour after hour.













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