Rumbles of memories hid in the hollow heart of the ancient night,
Where shadows loomed, and the moon’s pale light cast eerie glows,
Forgotten dreams, as a mournful whisper,
Softly screamed.
The old manor stood with creaking bones,
Its hunted corridors echoed with ghostly tones,
Rumbles of memories, long suppressed,
Stirred in the silence, never at rest.
Once filled with contentment, now void of mirth,
The walls remembered an epoch of worth,
But time had faded those golden days,
Leaving behind a spectral haze.
In every room, a sorrowed tale,
Of love and death, now frail and pale,
Hollowed portraits hung with vacant gazes,
Watching the centuries as each hope died.
The majestic chandeliers, their crystals untouched,
Now gathered dust as relics clutched,
By hands unseen, that played with grace,
Memories of feasts haunted this space.
Through shattered casement, the night wind sighed,
A dirge for dreams, a lover’s cries,
Ghostly guises in spectral movements,
Reenacted their final, tragic chance.
The library, once a place of meditation,
Now held the weight of memory,
Books abandoned, a torn letter was still,
Silent witness to fate’s cruel will.
Down in the cellar, darkness thrived,
Where secrets buried still survived,
Rumbles of memories, sharp and delirious,
Spoke of sorrow and woe.
A gelid wind echoed on ancient stairs,
A phantom’s tread, a soul’s despair,
Seeking rest, finding none,
In a place where time had never ruled.
In the attic’s gloom, a mirror stood,
Reflecting visions of shadowed lands,
A face appeared, so sad, so worn,
A spirit lost, forever torn.
The clock struck midnight, a ghostly chime,
Marking the passage of endless time,
Rumbles of memories, cold and deep,
Whispered to those who dared to sleep.
A tale of loss, sorrow and acceptance to be remembered,
Of haunted halls and spectral thrall,
For in the night, the memories were revived,
Rumbles of the past that forever endured.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
