When the cymbals took over the orchestra
The violin cried in desperation
Her fragile voice unheard between the
Cacophonous clanking of metal against the noise
She knew her song well, didn’t have to learn it
She was born with s gift of transcending
Both ecstasy and trembling sorrow
She was born to grasp the soul and sink
Right into the softness of all the
Vulnerable memories and fragile hopes
Waiting to be heard, eager to connect
Many hearts with the sound of the same
Truth vibrating through the rhythmic
Backbone of the drums in unison with
Mister piano who conservatively
Waited for his turn to assemble the lace
Of meaning between them all
But the stubborn cymbals persisted
Thinking their role essential for sun to shine
The role of thundersome emphasis
And emphasis they loved
Believing it to be the salt of any intention
The driving force sure to leave impact
The certainty of it felt like the final word
And the force that span the little universe of the orchestra
Always forward no time for questioning
Or stepping out of line
Or  off with their heads and  proceed with routine
And only sometimes when light beam brought up
Old memories they reminisced about the slender
Deeply absent face of conductress
Who knew the worth of each
And guided them with dine provision
Of her soundless presence
That made them all so connected
In their partial spotlight
As they used their strengths
To channel that which only
Deaf will undermine
The pure harmony
Of coexistence