I have a certain pool of subject matter that I like to write

Hear the voice of the singer and poet Don Henley, who declared: “I have a certain pool of subject matter that I like to write about, things that interest me: politics, religion, ecology, and relationships between men and women. And that's usually what I focus on.” These words may seem modest, as though spoken in passing, yet beneath them lies a teaching for all who seek to create. For he reminds us that the soul of an artist is not a wanderer lost in endless meadows, but a gardener tending to a chosen field. The pool of subject matter is no prison, but a well from which meaning flows.

In the ancient world, the bards and chroniclers knew this truth well. Homer sang not of every craft or tale but of war, wrath, and the longing for home. Sophocles fixed his gaze on the trials of fate and the arrogance of kings. They too had a pool of subjects, bounded but deep, and by returning again and again to their chosen themes, they struck chords that resound even in our time. Henley stands among them in spirit, reminding us that mastery is born not from scattering attention like dust, but from pouring one’s heart into the subjects that stir it most.

Consider the theme of politics, which Henley names. The affairs of rulers, the struggles of the governed, the rise and fall of nations—these have always been the backbone of human destiny. Writers who dare to speak of politics enter the arena where ideals wrestle with ambition. Recall Cicero, who wielded his words against tyranny, paying for his defiance with his life. To him, as to Henley, politics was not a dry matter of law, but a subject of fire, shaping both art and history.

He also names religion, that eternal dialogue between mortals and the divine. To write of religion is to reach into the deepest yearning of the human heart: the hunger for meaning, for forgiveness, for transcendence. The psalmists sang of it, Augustine confessed it, and countless poets have wrestled with God in the silence of the night. For Henley, religion is not an isolated curiosity but a central stream of the human condition, as relevant as breath itself.

In speaking of ecology, Henley reveals a vision rare in the ancients yet urgent in our age: the bond between humankind and the earth that sustains it. Where once men wrote of rivers as gods and forests as sacred groves, Henley reminds us that these symbols are not only myth but also living reality. To neglect the earth is to neglect ourselves. Thus, the writer who turns to ecology joins a lineage of prophets and poets who warn that to wound the earth is to wound the soul.

And finally, he names the timeless theme: relationships between men and women. This is the stage upon which every generation acts its dramas of love, betrayal, devotion, and despair. It is the thread that ties together kingdoms and households, the story that is always old yet always new. From the tragedy of Antony and Cleopatra to the poetry of Shakespeare’s sonnets, the dance between man and woman has been the wellspring of countless works. Henley, too, sees this as a fountain worth returning to, for it is as inexhaustible as the beating of the human heart.

Thus, what lesson must we draw from Henley’s words? It is this: know the subjects that move your soul, and do not fear to return to them again and again. Do not scatter your efforts upon every passing fancy, but find your pool, your chosen ground, and cultivate it with patience. The depth of your devotion will yield works of lasting power, while aimless wandering yields only fragments.

So take action, child of tomorrow. Ask yourself: What themes stir my heart to fire? What questions call me back, again and again, even in silence? When you find them, cherish them, and let them shape your art, your work, your life. For in choosing your subjects with intention, you build not only words or deeds, but a legacy that will echo through time. The pool is not small—it is the gateway to eternity.