Not the Best Man

Dear readers,

here is a poem, in addition to the essay below (please read this), that theokwek has sent to make up for his prolonged silence when he was AWOL on holiday. he sent this poem in for a competition, but was underaged and couldn't take part even though the judge said he had 'great talent'. well here it is anyway.

P.S. theokwek welcomes requests for essays and poems under the category of music

The Straight Times Editor

Not the Best Man

At the conductor’s cue
The thin tendrils
Of Beethoven’s Eroica Symphony
Curled towards the ceiling

Second violinist

He glanced up
At the glaring spotlights
That cast eerie shadows
Working their music
All over the waxed
Floor

He glanced
Further
Into the darkened hall
Beyond
It was dark
Save
For one face

He glimpsed
Right in the centre
Of the thronging crowd
That familiar face

It was a female face,
Petite, pleasing, pretty
Framed with curls
And adorned
With chocolate-drop eyes
That brought strange
Emotion
And
Excitement
To the symphony

A face
He’d seen before
Whenever the orchestra played
She was there
Listening intently to rehearsals
That crept deep into the night
Cheering wildly at performances
That charmed the hearts of many
Stopping in her tracks
When they busked for leisure
And dropping that rare dollar-bill
Into empty violin-cases

He looked at that face
That familiar face
Curls, cherry-red lips
And all

But then
As his heart
Trembled
At the sight

He looked up again

The conductor
Struck a majestic pose
Baton upraised

The concertmaster
Led with violin poised
Gifted to the core

Last of all
He looked into his heart
Cold, forsaken, humblest of souls

And the realized
In that split-second
Of love
And
Of depression

That he
Was not
Could never be

The Best Man