Poetry As It Poem by Smoky Hoss

I read in a poem:
This is what it sounds like;
And I fear becoming deaf.
Does poetry confuse its place, or, does life?
Mostly, it seems, poetry mistakes itself for life, but
secretly I hope it is the other way around.
Because poetry transforms;
showing that all of life is a returning,
back to the origin.
And there is where, I realize that I am part of the music;
Just clapping my hands, perhaps, but,
none-the-less, still I am with the poetic band.
There is, of course, an answer, but,
it is not of this moment.
This discussion, though unoriginal, creates originality; and therefore,
there must be a name to bear it;
and it sounds like … poetry.