In My Mind's Eye

Beethoven's Plight

There are days when my heartbeat skids to a halt,

Like the sea turned to glass of a vibrant cobalt,

And the sonata sounding so sorrowfully sad,

Piercing through my conscience and driving me mad,

Is naught but an echo fading in my ear,

The last minor chord struck to yet disappear.

Yet as holy as sound is, silence is divine,

The forgotten beauty of something benign.

Though thy voice in my heart still rings out so true,

Bizarrely, considering I'm not near you.

I've never yet heard a quiet quite so loud,

As you taunting my hearing with such silent sound,

Your undead delusion convenes in my mind,

Of a world where I'm nothing but deaf, dumb, and blind.

Still roses are crimson and violets yet blue,

But I can't keep my head calibrated round you.

Though scattered on writing desk black feathers lie,

The raven always seems to whither and die,

Its blood spilt on parchment like music notes blurred,

Of a rhapsody written to never be heard.

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Written for the Thinky Ink-Scribers Club, based on the intriguing prompt of "spilt ink and raven feathers." 

In this poem, I tried to put myself into Beethoven's shoes as he began to lose his hearing, eventually going completely deaf. Despite all of this, he still managed to compose magnificently, even writing phenomenal pieces like Moonlight Sonata and the Ninth Symphony during this period. I don't know about you all, but I frankly can't think of anything more inspiring. His passion for composing was strong, and even though he lost the most vital tool we have for enjoying music, he wouldn't let any obstacle impede him.