ON THE LIKELIHOOD OF CONFUSED SOUNDS

which way is which

On the Likelihood of Confused Sounds

I am withered in the words
Confounded metaphors ask for my demise
But the soul lies to keep me alive
Dented and returned from everywhere
I lost the poem once said
I am dreaming now of favorable winds
Blowing my conscience into
The likelihood of impeccable dreams.

Though I may scurry about
The words likely to whistle a way
I said to noun the other day
Can I like the poem be a verb today
He withered into the words sound
Leaving me alone in confused clouds.