Tag: abandoned dreams

  • The Cemetery Of Fairies

    The Cemetery Of Fairies

    The cemetery of fairies
    lay before me
    In all its solemnity
    and hidden silence,
    where I sought refuge
    In my usual nocturnal flight
    from the nightmares—
    those sovereigns
    of my heart.

    Lay before me
    In all its solemnity
    and hidden silence,
    where I sought refuge
    In my usual nocturnal flight
    from the nightmares—
    those sovereigns
    of my heart.

    Star dust was falling over me
    like a midnight rain
    In a winter storm,
    cold and glimmering,
    silent as a magic spell,
    settling upon my hair
    like an ethereal veil
    woven from arcane secrets.

    A shroud of solitude wrapped around me
    like a protective barrier,
    rendering me invisible to others—
    And yet, at the same time,
    It made me a prisoner
    of a realm I could no longer resist belonging to.

    The pain I had always felt—
    It was like a kind of splinter
    pierced into my heart,
    one to which I had grown numb and accustomed.
    So many sorrows had scattered
    across my brief existence,
    leaving no trace among mortals,
    like a tiny, insignificant creature
    adrift in an immense ocean
    of infinite, scattered universes—
    unconnected, and forgotten.

    My silence was heavy with resentment,
    disillusionment, despair, and utter isolation.
    I stood within the cemetery of fairies—
    not the fairies of storybooks,
    But the ones who embodied my abandoned dreams,
    shattered and buried
    In a vast expanse I called a graveyard,
    Though in truth it existed only within my imagination.
    The scene before me was grim and mournful,
    for it mirrored my shadowed soul—
    a soul steeped in torment
    and numbed by the weight of impossibility,
    numbed by the stark realisation
    that I would never reach
    those long-yearned-for desires
    that had once set my heart alight.

    Sweet should have been the tender memories of my life—
    Yet I called them the ghosts of the past,
    for they haunted and tormented my sleep,
    filling my nights with unrest.
    In those troubled hours,
    My heart was relentlessly torn apart
    by the spears of demons
    Who, with dreadful solemnity,
    invaded my chamber unbidden.
    Elisabetta

  • The Dark Vault

    The Dark Vault

    The dark vault of death and desires was the hidden alcove where all the dreams became flowers of death.

    Desires painted the antique wallpaper in red blood, casting a spell on whoever dared to dream in a deadly slumber trapped in those walls.

    No light could have pierced the darkness that ruled that niche, not even the silvery moonlight, so shy to surrender to all that gloominess.

    Far away from every kind of imagination, desires, and dreams were nothing else than a beautiful aspect of death, with the only purpose of obliterating everything.

    No dream would have ever come true; instead, they would manifest the only final aim: the perpetual and endless destruction of all that was pure and magnificent.

    The dark vault was a mysterious crypt that existed only in a chimerical realm where time and space made no sense.

    The walls of this eldritch place were adorned with mirrors of betrayal, their shattered surfaces still gleaming.

    Each fragment reflected only the phantoms of lost expectancies and fractured souls. Every sliver concealed a story of despair, hissing in the silent domain of this dark vault.

    In the heart of this chasm stood a grave of glooms carved from obsidian and veined with crimson ichor.

    A tome rested upon the grave; its pages were inked with the anguish of a thousand forgotten souls.

    To read from this book meant to be bound to the vault forever, chained by the weight of desires turned to ash.

    Sobs crept as if disembodied voices murmured secrets of aggrieved existences. They wove around the corners like the Hydra, promising happiness and pleasure but delivering only torments.

    They unveiled tales of love turned decayed, of corrupted ambitions, of defiled innocence—all reduced to hollow vestiges of what could have existed.

    The darkness surrounded everything as a cruel reminder that no dream could ever flourish in such a place.

    Those naive dreamers who stumbled into this dark vault were ensnared by its grim allure. Their desires, once flamboyant and passionate, were siphoned away, leaving their spirits barren and their forms reduced to statues of cinders.

    These uncautious wanderers remained permanently frozen in agony, outstretching their arms and striving to seize dreams that were lost forever.

    The vault itself seemed like a living creature, feeding on the despair it provoked and expanding its labyrinth routes with each new prey.

    New grotesque chambers unfurled like malignant blooms, adorned with relics of devastated hearts and the skeletal relics of every aborted dream.

    There was no escape in this wicked vault, for it was an eternally cursed and tragic realm—a liminal space that swallowed all, reducing everything to echoes in its mournful symphony.

    The dark vault was the embodiment of the inevitable, where every dream, every desire, every spark of life came to die.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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