George Kirazian Jr: Beethoven's Death Bed

His whispers limp into the air
And mute the insect sounds of friends.
The cane-like limbs strain
As he turns to his piano,
Folded and preposterous in the silent corner.

Only a glowing now
From all that force,
But deep within the obedient body
A final curse at the lightning's claw.


This poem has appeared in Ararat, Volum II, No 2, Spring 1961