Poetry of life

 Have you ever heard that when someone wants to describe something so beautiful, that he can't find the right words for it,  he says "It is like a poetry"?

O me! O life!

O ME! O life!. . . of the questions of these recurring; 

Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish; 

Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’d; 

Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me; 

Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined; 

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? 

Answer. That you are here—that life exists, and identity; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.

Walt Whitman

Be the poet who writes poetry of your own life.


Yours truly, 
CFJ team