Philip Vincent Sanders Poems

The cold November wind bites deep inside
And in the tepee there the baby lies
Asleep within the handmade cradle low
His breathing slight and soft and slow
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The brush sweeps across the open plains
As buffaloes do roam and graze
The keenness of the young Sioux braves
As longingly on their prey they gaze
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The squaw knelt down beside the stream
The waters flowing fast
And let her fingers feel the cold
As the icy waters passed
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The storm brews and the wind howls
Your face is battered by by the rain
But it frees you from the shackles of the world
Clearing a path in your mind to nirvana
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Watch the moonglow, see it shine
Walk the path alone in time
Feel the space amongst the trees
Touch the leaves, feel the breeze
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The river flowing slowly past
Boats scurrying here and there
Where to? …Why? and How?
With all their various wares
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Your hair flows across the pillow like a mountain stream
Moonlight resting on your face still deep in sleep
Eyelids flutter like a bird as dreams unfold
The restful mind still in creative mood
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My mind refuses sleep
Portraying life in all its shades
Reminding me of all that is …
And all that maybe in the years to come
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The vibrant fruits of youth ………
Mature … and shed fallow seeds
Where once the stream flowed pure and clear
The waters are now muddied and unsure
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I open the box with trepidation and exhilaration
Memories burst through my eyes … into my mind
Love fells me like an axe to a tree ………
I drown in a deep sea of emotion
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