Christine A Kysely Poems

It's Not Only A Game

Football Is Deep In Our Bones
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Bullfrogs start to sing

As evening sky creeps in
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All it is I own

Baggage that resides within
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Circles on circles

Shaded glass to shield sun's glare
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Joints, bend or stay straight

Rivers, turn or overflow banks
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Caged birds can sing not

Unhappiness, No songs bring
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Holding Autumn's hair

Leaves blow lover's dead kisses
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External desires

Long veiled lashes, obscure thoughts
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Bite juicy apple

Tastes of the unforbidden
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Divided people
There is no line in the sand
Connected as one.
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