Wordsworth wrote an endless poem in blank verse on” the growth of a poet’s mind.”  I shall attempt a more modest feat for a more distracted age: a blog, “Things which a Lifetime of Trying to Be a Poet has Taught Me.”

“What is a soul?” someone once asked C. S. Lewis. “I am,” he replied.  That is, a soul is something that can say, “I.”  This is a deceptively simple and ultimately profound answer, the implications of which deserve contemplation.  Whence comes it that we can say such a thing?  And what does it mean?

Dr. Williams contemplating his soul
Dr. Williams contemplating his soul

The Soul

A simple center of focus, a fury of order

Which takes from available matter what it needs

To body forth itself; a heart that bleeds

Discursive Reason; more, a rapt recorder

Of all that passes, and a subtle sorter

Of all that it collects; a fount of deeds;

A seedling sown, itself a sower of seeds;

Establisher of I/Thou/It, the border.


Thus God created it; corrupt, it stays

The same, though in corruption: chaos creeps

In everywhere; the order all decays.

The matter mutinies; the memory sleeps;

The fountain flows polluted; in a daze,

The Reason wanders–and the Reaper reaps.

Remember: for more poetry like this, go to and order Stars Through the Clouds! Also look for Inklings of Reality and Reflections from Plato’s Cave, Williams’ newest books from Lantern Hollow Press: Evangelical essays in pursuit of Truth, Goodness, and Beauty.  And look for Williams’ very latest book, Deeper Magic: The Theology behind the Writings of C. S. Lewis, from Square Halo Books!

Donald T. Williams, PhD


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