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Once I Was Dead
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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson

Once I Was Dead

 

Once I was dead yet now I’ll live

Within a far off land

Where One who loves and loves to give

Reached out and took my hand

 

With arms outstretched upon a tree

He showed to me His love

Softly His voice was calling me

Turning my head above

 

I’d seldom thought of God before

Never of Christ as Lord

Heaven was some ancient folklore

Religion spread abroad

 

But as I watched the blood run free

Seeing His grimaced face 

I saw through Him I’ll always be

A follower of grace

 

The Truth of Christ God’s Lamb was mine

Salvation’s really true

How could I now Life’s call decline?

And righteousness pursue

 

In strength of faith with hope unknown

In power of His might

At Jesus’ feet beneath His throne

My darkness changed to Light

 

My heart was clean my soul was free

My very thoughts were new

God’s secret things my eyes could see

What could on earth I do?

 

“Service” The quiet voice again

“There’s sheep out in the cold

From every street and country lane 

Help bring them to The Fold”.....

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Submitted: Saturday, September 10, 2016

Last Updated: Saturday, September 10, 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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