The Wells

At my dad's memorial service I read a poem that he wrote long before he was ill with Valley Fever, about four years before he was married. I think it might have been before or right around the time he came to Grace.

A couple people requested that I post it somewhere, so here it is. It wasn't titled, so I gave it one. :)


The Wells

My soul is troubled, I do not see them!
My heart is full, but there is no release.

The end of my journey is near,
But my legs are weary from striving.
I would crawl if I could
But my hands burn on the dust of the ground.

My eyes are caked with dust and sweat.
Faith is my only hope.
Hands of the masters have ripped my clothes,
The sun scorches my skin.

The birds of the dead circle in the sky,
But still I seek for the living water.
But the heat of the world is so oppressive
That I long to return to its dust.

My body collapsed, my soul cried out,
“I can’t go on, I have to stop!”
My senses are numbed, my sight destroyed,
And I despair for all is lost.

The tears of my heart washed clean my eyes
And I beheld the wells at my side!
For I received the promise in ages past
That when all was lost, the wells I would find.
They were overflowing with the water I sought.
I had trusted in God, and He was sight.

Mike Taylor
April 21, 1979