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Touch the Heart That Bled.....
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By Michael P. Johnson
Other Poems by Michael P. Johnson

† Touch The Heart That Bled

We owe our Father all and more

Christ Jesus; lives of love

Yet many close and lock their door

And that to life above

Though God will harvest golden wheat

Sweet fruit from living trees

The heart and soul of manís elite

Yet chaff, is all He sees

Choosing to live by Satanís rules

We play the devilís game

And so we die like blinded fools

Still clad in robes of shame

Although hellís jaws are open wide

Manís lust grows more and more

Our nakedness we flaunt with pride

Living as Satanís whore

Yet if the world could only see

Remorse could sound alarm

The Truth would set her off spring free

And take The Bridegroomís arm

If from her past the world would part

If truth sheíd seek above

Sheíd seek to touch her childrenís heart

To serve through deeds of love

Remorse would sound Salvations horn

Lifeís wine would flow in streams

Transforming lives to be reborn

Beyond their wildest dreams

To God itís clear what tears mean

That truthful hearts have shed

Could be when yours by God are seen

Theyíll touch the heart that bled.....

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Submitted: Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Last Updated: Wednesday, August 7, 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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