a sonnet to Philosophy

I wrote this to the character of Philosophy in Boethius’ Consolation, as part of an assignment for a class; if you’ve read that book you’ll likely understand this poem better. If you haven’t, then just know that Philosophy is trying to explain things like predestination, free will, the true good, the best way to live, etc. to the Prisoner, but her arguments are often confusing and contradictory — which may in fact be the point of the book. For more context, go read the book (or this article).

I am enslaved by choices I have made,
And I am not consoled by gentle prayers.
I am a sinner, yet you call me saint:
I will not trust your sweetly poisoned care. 
You tell me I am good: you speak a lie — 
You tell me I must trust this thing is true.  
My mind is small; I listen, but I cry
That you are wrong, for I am shattered through.
And yet my Savior deigned to die for me — 
For me, who spurns him oft, to shed his blood! — 
And buy me by this blood a crown of gold.
And though a broken creature I may be,
He draws me to himself, the truest good. 
Alleluia, Lord, I am consoled.

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