The string & bow unite in harmonious friction
Dark red breath given from pale inscription.
Wind enters the hollow chambers echoing.
Glimmering brass flows silver vibrations
Sticks strike blows the pounding cries
Tanned hide still alive with screams.
The instrument, the method, the mind.
I think the cool thing about this is that it is easy to add to. There is enough for meaning and purpose and that doesn't necessarily change or detract if I add to the poem.