The Moon

She had a bright gleaming eye, Like the moon is glowed. She showed, through, a small blown fire, Like a waning crescent moon it shone. In the sky, betwixt violence and tolerance, Her moon shone brighter. Broke the lock and let the bird free, from the adorned cage in the kitchen. It flew away in the rampage of an astounded and angry husband. She didn't care, She couldn't care, She marveled at the moon. Yet still today, though its cage is invisible, it still exists, With a lock of words and underestimation. Bound by the inability to be free, Truly free, Completely free.