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The Light Was Out
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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson

 

The Light Was Out

 

The light was out and there alone

I lay upon my bed

I heard a noise perhaps a groan

And slowly turned my head

 

Above the sill a single star

Though shadows spread their wings

Between sounds of a passing car

I thought a thousand things

 

My hammer has the man next door

The hedge still needs a trim

What next should I be saving for?

Why is my room so dim?

 

Is death the end or just the start?

Do sinners burn in hell?

Feeling the beating of my heart

Is God alive and well?

 

If I’m that bad and Satan’s real

If Christ and Heaven’s true       

Is there a place where souls appeal?

Or change their point of view

 

Again the shadows danced in flight

My curtains caught the breeze

The moon came forth spreading its light

And I was on my knees

 

For years I’d never thought of prayer

Religion was absurd

Amazing though whilst kneeling there

The miracle occurred

 

I felt a fool with such a thought

Who could hear and please us

And then I heard the warm retort

“Jesus”.....

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Submitted: Thursday, June 23, 2016

Last Updated: Thursday, June 23, 2016

About the Poet
I never wrote a word of poetry in my life. Till the day Jesus took my hand and touched my soul.....I invite your response. However most poems are not about me! Very few are. But the feed-back good, bad or indifferent is always desired. Not meant to offend, but I write about many things in many a guise. Of life, death, lost, found, saved, backsliders, new comers, repenting souls, doubting hearts, heathens, Christians, fire, water, Satan's daughter, wallowing in sin, saved, made sound walking in Light, graceful righteous. Suffering, ecstatic, bored, excited, sad, delighted, Sick, well, lame, able, living, dying, etc. etc. etc. Writing about anything, everything and everyone as the spirit leads. All meant to reveal, waken, revive, encourage, shame, help. Gladden, pick up, exalt, portrait, liberate. Again over 99% of my work is not about me. Although at times I write as though I were or am. Speaking e.g. in the first person. This is quite common even in the bible itself. Prophets speak of themselves, then God speaks, again the prophet, then God......Quite often it's difficult to distinguish whom it is that at any given time is speaking or narrating.

Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson

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