Dying Beethoven

the aroma of ingenuity
as i went inside
a heavenly vibe greets...

in his bed there lays
the ma-es-tro
the "diabolous"genius
welcoming death
chasing his breath
withering
dying---

slowly...
as the hands of clock tick horrorly---

forward, i motioned
then the Ninth Symphony plays
in my mind atleast
and his Für Elise
all his symphonies
they brought

tears---

i held the master's hands
as his eyes fixed
like shining marbles
closing

and his magical deft ears
they spoke  words
in a soundless verse

his greyish hair
it portrays mistery
and his wrinkles exactly tell
a great mastery 

--the mystery of his mastery
is the mastery of his mystery--

and so cold his hands they were
that night
like ice that burns
they're losing grip
slowing pulse beat
waiting for his life
to leave...