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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson

† † † † † Murdered

Ice cold, ran blood through sordid veins

Murder, seduced manís thoughts

In flowing robes festooned with stains

Liars spread dark reports

Whispers behind a devious smirk

Hiding each loathsome lie

Religion about the devilís work

Would see Christ Jesus die

Though steeped in filth, to sin a slave

Self-righteous, filled with pride

Yet even these; Christ came to save

For such as these; He died

Jesus could see their fowl intent

Could see their every flaw

Through grace The Lamb of God was sent

As Key to Heavenís door

Yet secretly Godís Son they tried

Jealousy reigned supreme

While publicly Salvation cried

As God revealed loveís stream

A stream ordained the world to flood

A stream of light divine

A stream of Jesusí righteous blood

For souls to drink like wine

The Father staged this perfect plan

Unknown to Satanís hoard

Sinless; would live and die a man

To rise eternal Lord

True love will reign with Heavenís King

Will conquer darkest night

Will bless the day Heaven will bring

When death gives up the fight.....

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Submitted: Saturday, August 3, 2013

Last Updated: Saturday, August 3, 2013

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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