Douglas M Laurent Quotes

d.laurent
I, Prayer: A Poem

I, Prayer, know no hour. No season, no day, no month nor year.
No boundary, no barrier or limitation–no blockade hinders Me.
There is no border or wall I cannot breach.
I move inexorably forward; distance holds Me not.
I span the cosmos in the twinkling of an eye.
I knowest it all.
I am the most powerful force in the Universe.
Who then is My equal?
Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook?
None is so fierce that dare stir him up.
Surely, I may'st with but a Word.
Who then is able to stand before Me?
I am the wind, the earth, the metal.
I am the very empyrean vault of Heaven Herself.
I span the known and the unknown beyond
Eternity's farthest of edges.
And whatsoever under Her wings is Mine.
I am a gentle stream, a fiery wrath
penetrating; wearing down mountains
–the hardest and softest of substances.
I am a trickling brook to fools of want
lost in the deserts of their own desires.
I am a Niagara to those who drink in well.
I seep through cracks. I inundate.
I level forests kindleth unto a single burning bush.
My hand moves the Universe by the mind of a child.
I withhold treasures solid from the secret stores
to they who would wrench at nothing.
I do not sleep or eat, feel not fatigue, nor hunger.
I do not feel the cold, nor rain or wind.
I transcend the heat of the summer's day.

Empowerment Meditation Prayer Spirituality

Tempestuous plains tell the tale,
Windswept wastes do bewail,
Haunting Spirit of the land,
Seeks the living, seeks the damned.

Horizoned edge sheared with grass,
Dark Storm Rising in the pass,
Ageless Spirit seeks the path,
To torment souls to the last.

Brooding Spirit upon the plain,
Thunderhead gathers for the rain.
Light grows dim then bolts with pain,
On dry Earth her sin is stained.

(Frightened creatures do stampede,
Into night, they do recede).

Ungodded hand on seasoned blade,
Reaps the harvest of the Age.

Released from her eternal din,
Spirit of the Age rises again.
Seeking to plunder and consume,
Those who were proud, those who presumed.

Spirits rage while storm draws nigh,
Upon burning plain and emblazoned sky.
It is said giants grapple in the Earth so deep,
To contend for souls that they might keep.

The Storm spirit now searches the high and the low,
To seek her manchild victim in the fields below.
Leaves bad wasteland to claim but a fallen man,
Denying it Heaven, crowning it, 'Son of the Damned.'

Treacherous Spirit of the far lost night,
Tramples souls down denying them light.
Storm seethes with furious hiss,
Leads men on to bottomless pit.

This most ancient of foes has come from her den,
To seek the living, to make ready those dead.
A living sa

linear brains can't curve a thought.