Unnamed Poem #73

Vixen of the velvet night,
Eased by the fallen light.
Rooted by scathing chains in the open palms,
Of a field torn with sickening qualms.
She looks at the lustreless moon in a gaze,
Then collapses to the ground in a crimson haze.
Her eloquence could not settle her racing heart,
Nor the harmonic cry of wildlife art.

Ill from immoral human ways,
That have ripped free a fiery blaze.
And in the charcoal skies high above the blooming stars,
Staring into the eyes of the night sky’s mars;
Was the silhouette of evil’s best,
Holding her freedom key against his breast.