That lyre,
Apollos hand-me-down,
An instrument of antiquity,
That sound,
Each tone more shrill than the last,
Thundercracks across string,
I hate it,
I hate those aural pangs,
They scrape across my cranium,
Nails upon chalk,
Leaving invisible scars,
There is nothing divine about this sound,
No virtue from its turtle shell frame,
It is a miserable dirge of angst,
Plucked free by the fingers of demons,
Inflicting naught but malady.
WorldofHarley 
awesome! Great job on this one! X
Thank you very kindly my friend! 😊
The Oldschool Harlequin
Ah well done! Love the meanings and sounds in the word “lyre” so much can be read into words with similar sound. Brilliantly penned!
I wasn’t too familiar with the instrument a few days ago, but after some reading up I had to write something. ☺️ Thank you kindly!
The Oldschool Harlequin