A Call to Arms, into the Armchair with You

Walking through the house,
I crane my neck no further than a logical step,
and toward the fading edge, a mental event horizon,
I watch a procession of strangers carry my belongings,
but as in dreamy stupor I find my tongue wagging in agreement.

As the hatch in my head shuts,
I am struck by the loss and barter it all back,
and in the comfort of so many familiar possessions,
I hush the shrieking tone which would beckon change,
as a caretaker for a sick person, how embarrassing!