• The auditorium stands silent,
    The audience no more than statues,
    Eyes watching the illuminated stage;
    Holding their breath, waiting in angst.

    A single note occurs from the podium.
    It rings in the air, then flutters to silence—
    A bird in the spring breeze
    Fluttering to its tree.

    The spectators see now that their waiting is done,
    And are met with another note; this time a pattern.
    Its purveyor hums along gently,
    And her lulled wielder goes into a trance.

    The bow swoops and drags along the strings,
    Cello weaving her song in a coaxing manner, almost pleading;
    Still, her companion lays silent,
    Mahogany finish glinting in the stage light.

    The silent one’s owner gives the bowing man a glance,
    And the two exchange a brief, bright-eyed nod.
    With the phrase ending, the room falls silent,
    And again the statues stare in wait.

    With a dart of the bow, the dark one sparks,
    A flurry of deep sound in such a short time;
    The tones are taunting, declaring a fight,
    And a sharp ends the phrase, and again it goes silent.

    The cherry-wood soon responds, her notes softer and lighter
    Yet with the same fervent strength; she and her Wielder had accepted.
    Ending this with a flat, the cello creates her own mock;
    Provoking the Dark to duel his best.

    Thus began their war.
    Fingers race on board and bows dash into the air,
    Strings hum and instruments sing,
    And Wielders fall into the nether; the Wood now rules.

    The Cellos now play in unison,
    Melodizing and harmonizing one another in uneven turns,
    Like children bickering over a toy.
    The Dark one parries, and the Light nearly stumbles.

    The statues still watch with wonder and awe at the battle,
    Inching ever closer in their placid seats.
    Still, they remain silent as the grave,
    And as still as stone; staring.

    The Light retaliates with a third scale and chord,
    And the Dark lulls into a soft, deep sound,
    As if in thought.
    The Light one persists, and is met with a racing answer.

    The Duel continued for nigh eternity,
    With statues to view the endless battle.
    Neither would give up, it seemed,
    And they both began to tire.

    With a few fleeting notes from opposite ends of the octave,
    Produced like that of a descending butterfly,
    The Cellos fell silent,
    And the Wielders came to.

    For the first time the dead statues did move,
    And move they did; rising and clapping,
    Making uproar that nearly matched the Cellos.
    Dazed and confused, the Wielders rose to bow, and gave each other a smile.

    The Wielders bowed again, and once more for show,
    Bows hanging from weak arms.
    The Cellos pivoted on their pins,
    Cherry and Mahogany finishes glinting in the light.

    Today they had tied, it seemed,
    But there was always another day, and another time.
    For when next their songs play, it will be another battle,
    Another war, and another Duel.