Writer's Lyre
Renae Brabham

Veins of ink, soul bared
Portals open everywhere

Her thoughts to pen, The writer's lyre
Primal dancing next to fire


Spinning lyrical, papyrus stage
You feel her joy, you taste her rage


Her paper there, an open vent
Her thoughts, her feelings yet sunspent


You think you know her? She knows you too
You think she writes those words of you


Emotions sequestered, drawn to surface
Burning, smoldering in every souls furnace


Those guarded, locked with hidden key
The stylus, murdered privacy