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Hit the Streets
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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson


Hit the Streets


You gave Your Son to set us free

Your Lamb man’s soul to save

Your Word that blinded eyes should see

The Way to flee the grave


We see the fools who truth deny

The dreamer seeking fame

The sinful souls afraid to die

Adorned in shrouds of shame


We see the lost, the walking dead

The worldly wise astray

We see them needing Living Bread

Through which to find The Way


You’ve made the future crystal clear

The past as trusty guide

What shall we dread whom shall we fear

When love burns deep inside


We’ll see The Cloud The living Light 

Man’s faces wrought with fear

The failing hearts dark as the night

And Jesus Christ appear


We’ll see His eyes His hands and feet

His radiant face and hair

Life’s trumpet calling love’s elite

God’s Glory everywhere


Till then my God let wisdom reign

Let grace a while yet flow

Let Jesus’ blood bring birth again

Setting more hearts aglow


Send more up every the street Lord

Down roads each country lane

Let’s save them from the coming sword

And hell’s eternal pain.....

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Submitted: Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Last Updated: Wednesday, April 6, 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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