The ghost of death had lingered near,
A shadow cast in whispered fear.
In silent rooms where memories lay,
It watched as life slipped slowly away.
It moved like mist, so cold, so pale,
Through empty halls, a mournful wail.
With each breath, the living took in fright,
Echoed through the deepening night.
The ghost had beckoned with hollow eyes,
Inviting souls to bid their goodbyes.
A figure cloaked in sorrow’s shroud,
It walked among the restless crowd.
A desperate heart had sensed its call,
Feeling the weight of the final fall.
In darkened corners, whispers grew,
Of destinies sealed, of fates, they knew.
When face to face, the ghost did smile,
An eerie calm that stretched a mile.
No threat it posed, no anger burned,
Just a quiet truth that must be learned.
The ghost of death, in silence, spoke,
Of lives once bright, now just a cloak.
It showed the beauty in the decay,
And how each end gave birth today.
The final breath was not the end,
But a turning point, a chance to mend.
In acceptance, there lay a grace,
As life transformed, it embraced its place.
The ghost receded, its duty done,
Leaving behind what must be spun.
In the quiet, the living sighed,
Knowing well, they’d never indeed died.
For life’s a cycle, a gentle sweep,
Where shadows linger but do not keep.
And in that space where fears once crept,
The ghost of death watched over and wept.
In twilight’s grasp, where echoes fade,
The ghost of death, a silent blade.
It whispered softly of lives once bright,
Of dreams lost to the endless night.
However, within its gaze, a flicker shone,
A reminder that love could not be gone.
For every soul, though bound to part,
Leaves a legacy within the heart.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
