Smothered by Consideration

Today, I was helped up to bed,
bedded in my final home, three floors up.
Below, I hear busy gatherings —
voices that once embraced me,
ears that sought my thoughts
canvassed my opinions.
Now I am shut out, safe in clean sheets
and suffocating care. I want to dare
to argue, join the fray, instead
my presence is tidied away, tucked
out of sight. My frail bones, pruned skin
might give offence to hale and hearty ones.
Sounds continue into night. I bewail
my own absence from hoarse arguments
and resent life's death in peace, desire
to unsheathe knives, pierce time itself.