He liked its darker tones,
and that it filled in the in-betweens;
recalling notes left behind,
seemingly forgotten,
by the other instruments;
tracing the empty spaces
with its subtler sounds;
the ones people in the audience don't notice;
their minds drawn
to the attention-seeking utterances of the violins
or the moaning complaints of the cellos;
but without which, riches would be lost
But, all the string instruments,
responding with tenderness and mirth
to the touch of human hands.
The show stopper, of course, the violin;
crying out in despair;
pitching grief one moment
but flighty and mercurial;
quick to laughter;
and able to move
with the impressive speed
and eloquence of a sprinter,
wearing flashy fluorescent spikes.
The centre of attention;
the life of the party.
The cello, the big-hearted and mournful one;
capturing our depths,
resonating the deepest cries and yearning
of the human heart;
full of power and unable to contain its desire;
the middle distance runner,
strong and intensely physical;
strategic; sweatily aggressive.
The double bass, connected to the earth;
trustworthy and even tempered;
the gentle giant; ancient and wise beast;
soothing with sounds felt rather than heard;
the very expression of commitment, of love.
Determined, softly pliant, ultra-marathon runner;
expressing timelessness;
and never giving up or giving in.
The viola player plays in the in-betweens,
and doesn't ask to be loved.
wannabepoet 