Here is some poetry by poets who should be read. If you do read their work and struggle to understand it, read it over and over until you do. If you can't appreciate these poets then you have no business writing poetry. Walt Whitman: [Book By The Roadside] "Only themselves understand themselves and the like of themselves, As souls only understand souls." - Perfections [Autumn Rivulets] "Out from behind this bending rough-cut mask, These lights and shades, this drama of the whole, This common curtain of the face contain'd in me for me, in you for you, in each for each, (Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tears -- O heaven! The passionate teeming plays this curtain hid!) This glaze of God's serenest purest sky, This film of Satan's seething pit, This heart's geography's map, this limitless small continent, this soundless sea; Out from the convolutions of this globe, This subtler astronomic orb than sun or moon, than Jupiter, Venus, Mars, This condensation of the universe, (nay here the only universe, Here the idea, all in this mystic handful wrapt These burin'd eyes, flashing to you to pass to future time, To launch and spin through space revolving sideling, from these to emanate, To you whoe'er you are -- a look." - Out From Behind This Mask [The Sleepers] http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/sleepers.html [To Think Of Time] http://www.daypoems.net/poems/2107.html [Song Of Myself] http://www.princeton.edu/~batke/logr/log_026.html William Shakespeare: http://www-tech.mit.edu/Shakespeare/ "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Our, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing." - Macbeth "I am bound Upon a wheel of fire, that mine own tears Do scald like molten lead . . ." - King Lear "Our revels are now ended, these our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air; And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep." - Prospero "But thought's the slave of life, and life time's fool; And time, that takes survey of all the world, Must have a stop." - Hotspur Lord Byron: http://englishhistory.net/byron/poetry.html Alfred Tennyson: http://home.att.net/~tennysonpoetry/ci.htm "Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring.... Answer: That you are here -- that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."