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Seasons for Everything
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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson


 

Seasons for Everything

 

I scarce recall before my prime

Where wisdom failed to show

Sparing no thought of God or time

Amidst the foggy flow

 

Spring was near and nothing more

Youth could never end

Seldom was thought behind the door

Beyond the future bend

 

The days grew warm then summer came

When love was in the air

When first I felt the tweak of shame

Others should never share

 

I heard of God but gave no mind

The devil owned my soul

Content was I selfish and blind

Out on a carefree stroll 

 

Then came seasons of pain and doubt

As loved ones passed away

Was this! I thought life‘s all about?

Death has the final say!

 

I sought for truth I sought for love

For remedies within

But found it’s only found above

When backs are turned to sin

 

How wonderful is second birth

When mountain snows appear

When autumn leaves caress the earth

When saving grace draws near

 

Even winter when ice takes hold

When all is crisp and white

I’m standing tall I’m standing bold

Wrapped in Salvation’s Light…..


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Submitted: Saturday, June 25, 2016

Last Updated: Saturday, June 25, 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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