An attempt at a poem

Consider this a first draft. I used to write poetry all the time when I was younger, but I haven't done it much recently. Last night I watched a fascinating PBS program about Walt Whitman, and it inspired me to attempt to write poetry again. So, without further ado, here's this:

How to write with the unabashed soul of Whitman
when I have an ironclad and cynical intellectual shell
encasing my emotions
To break free of that shell requires
a supreme act of faith and of will
to cast off the
inevitable judgment
How to break free
and yet avoid the
comfortable trappings of cliche
and tired metaphor
How to find a new voice
within the context of all that is
stifled by timeclocks
wasting hours staring at the endless television
and slowly dying
everything is convenient
everything is comfortable
everything is compatible
When I was younger
I dreamed dreams
I believed I could change everything
given the right tools
but I had those tools
at least some of them
but I coasted the years away
the tools at my feet
rarely used
because I fell into the lazy ease
of what passes for comfort these days
exciting myself with plastic novelties
like a new couch, tv, or a nice dinner out
but what is the point
when the clock still ticks towards inevitability
and the mind atrophies
how do I write with the unabashed soul of Whitman
when my own soul is lost in static?