A genius beyond words,
The man died having lived
A long and bitter life,
His funeral attended by the masses.
Yet, who understood this life
Let alone the man behind it?
Who peered deep into his eyes
To gaze at his immortal soul?
With ease he could write,
In passion and fury
He scratched his enduring legacy
On timeless, incorruptible pages.
On the piano, he was a virtuoso,
On the page he was a god
Creating music that angels envy,
Music that quakes within the soul.
Who understood this man,
Who saw fiery lightning in his eyes
Dowsed by an eternal melancholy,
A longing for his immortal beloved?
Who was there when the maestro
Was rejected time and time again,
His status lower than status quo,
Deemed unworthy of lasting love?
When he was all alone,
In whom could he find solace?
As he penned his wish to end it all,
Who embraced him in loving care?
Gifted beyond all belief,
The man blessed us all
With songs that pierce the soul;
He was cursed to never hear them.
His symphonies could uplift
The world into the heavens,
And could crush our hearts,
Showing us the depths of despair.
It was the music, his muse,
His goddess, his immortal beloved,
That kept him going, living,
Writing the undying ode to joy!
His life was a moonlight sonata,
A ghost trio laid bare for Elise,
And every lover denied him, the man
Who made them all immortal.
But his music could not,
Nay, it would not be denied!
The man may have passed on
But his legacy never will.
\"Friends applaud, the comedy is over\" — Ludwig Van Beethoven