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Witness the Cross
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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson


Witness the Cross


Come stand beneath The Saviour’s cross

As followers before

Believing they would suffer loss

As blood came pouring fore


They saw His face His hands and feet

Into His heart The hole

Till gruesome sorrow was complete

With no one to console


Through doubtful tears clouded eyes

Their hearts wrenched taut with pain

But then imagine their surprise

When Jesus rose again


So don’t just stand as though you’re blind

Observe this awesome shrine

Allow the shadows of your mind

Disperse through light divine


Unless we come unless we see

Like Thomas once forlorn

The Truth won’t rise to set us free

And light tomorrow’s dawn


He’ll still be dead inside His tomb

With famine and with drought

We’ll live our lives in total gloom

And die still plagued with doubt


Come share the scene with Jesus’ few

Like Peter long ago

Take in the sight this awesome view

And let Salvation flow


Let Jesus rise and dwell your heart

Let Fire caress your soul

Let love and grace play each their part

And rise towards your goal.....

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Submitted: Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Last Updated: Tuesday, June 23, 2015

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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