The middle –- no choices
stuck in the unknown
faltering on a thin line
getting boxed in slowly
boxed in with the violin --
the boss
cello,a step toward friendship,
the boss takes over and shines;
two voices compete --
to gain there place.
Ever so more - important
1/5 octave higher ,
viola a standout
friends to enemies
The cello,irate
stubborn like the roots of a tree
Maybe right minded;
are better
higher and louder--so perfect
the alto
too low,
ignored like a broken string
in its case
orchestra music begins to play;
one note starts to harmonize.
you heard the middle man
edging his way to the front
the boss- always one step behind
not bragging about our mere chance;
in the spotlight
constant- never wavering from conformity
never trading places with the boss
I'd like to think that ( maybe ),
the middle is balanced (perhaps a little skewed)
I sit on the edge and smile knowing “viola –-
was a violin with a college education”.*
a violist always compared
the violinist – escapes
the guilt,
piano never apologizes fully
I want equality – music --
written just for me --
no not the violin
my mind wanders to the greats
inferior was I
nary would I be as talented
Beethoven – Bach – my heroes.
the audience claps – but not for me
shown how worthless the middle man must be
I was a violist
I am the viola
*attributed to Primose
