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Where Children Never Die
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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson

Where Children Never Die


Most live out life like wandering whores

With devil’s as our guide

We close our hearts as prison doors

With we ourselves inside!


Like fools who’ve lost their God made mind

With hearts as hard as stone

We’ll gorge upon the filth we find

Poisoning flesh and bone


Blind to the forces in the air

Playing their evil roll

We seek the shadows all to share

Plaguing our very soul


Oblivious of being led

To hell’s polluted brink

Debauchery becomes our bread

And lust our daily drink


While most remain such living true

Faithful to depths of sin

There comes a point where just a few

Seek answers from within


There must be more to life than this

Though maybe hard to find

They’ll lay aside their wayward bliss

To heal their troubled mind


For comfort of their aching soul

Though first we think it odd

On humble knees to make us whole

We seek the face of God


“Lord are you there” with voices low

We raise our thoughts on high

Please show me now The Way to go

Where children never die.....

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Submitted: Friday, January 22, 2016

Last Updated: Friday, January 22, 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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