Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: acceptance

  • The Abyss of Death

    The Abyss of Death

    The abyss of death was in the deep valley of sorrows, a dark abyss where the light dare not tread,
    Shadows entwined with nightmares, evoking the dead.
    Time froze in the storm, beneath hollow spaces,
    The silence was so heavy it swallowed each dream.

    A gaze into the void was an unbearable dismay,
    Each sigh and cry was just a reminder, and each silence enthralled.
    The faces of loved ones, now phantoms, appeared like hunting ghouls,
    Swirling through instants that once held them near.

    All the fantasies that once blossomed in the gardens of innocence,
    Now faded like the twilight, a flicker of deception.
    Wanderers got lost through corridors of time lined with regret,
    Haunted by spectres along the paths, a forgotten nightmare and sadness.

    Inside the deepest despair and darkness, acceptance may have bloomed,
    Death was but a doorway leading to a new world,
    Where all of the tales, like rivers, were flowing,
    In the mechanism of time, the merciless enemy.

    In the abyss of death, no hope or expectations,
    No choices, no rise and no fall.
    No wisdom could have divined, through its chilling embrace,
    Death was but an irreversible chapter, a doomed passage to another realm.

    In despair’s cold grasp, shadows gathered,
    Fragments of abandoned dreams were left bleak and hollow.
    Each instant felt like the same surrender,
    As hope dissolves into the ether of night.

    Faint memories, mere phantoms of what once was,
    They drifted like ashes on a relentless wind.
    Time, a cruel jest, mocked the aching heart,
    Turning warmth into mournful silence.

    In the chasm of oblivion, there was no consolation, no reprieve,
    Only the burden of regrets weighing everything down,
    A suffocating reminder of what has vanished and could not return,
    And the chilling truth that nothing remained,
    In the abyss of death, all was lost, and none ever returned.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Shattered Expectations

    Shattered Expectations

    Shattered expectations lay heavy,
    Upon a once-bright horizon,
    Casting gloom over whispered promises,
    Dreams shattered like fragile glass,
    Each shard reflected unrealised aspirations,
    Their brilliance was dulled by the sting of reality.

    In an instant of fracture,
    The future darkened with despair,
    The heartfelt, sharp sting of disillusionment,
    Every step forward met with waves of grief,
    Dragging the spirit into a pit of sorrow,
    Where hope became a distant memory.

    The sky was loaded with clouds and forgotten ambitions,
    Each gust of wind was a reminder of paths diverged,
    Faces that once gleamed with potential,
    Now, they wore masks of resignation,
    Eyes clouded with the weight of disappointment,
    The spark of hope extinguished too soon.

    Time, relentless in its march,
    Became a cruel companion,
    Each tick of the clock was a reminder
    Of the opportunities that slipped away,
    Moments scattered like shards of mirrors,
    Reflecting the painful truth of what could have been.

    In this desolation, nefarious thoughts persisted,
    What had been could never be reclaimed,
    The world spun on, indifferent to grief,
    Each sunrise bore the weight of shattered dreams,
    And a quiet acceptance began to take root,
    Acknowledging that some dreams were never meant to flourish.

    Amid the gloom of bygone days,
    Traces of forsaken desires lingered,
    A haunting reminder of what was lost,
    And even in the depths of hope,
    No flicker of resilience could have sparked,
    Leaving only shadows where dreams once thrived.

    Shattered expectations became remote relics,
    As the heart learned to wander through the darkness,
    Searching for echoes in a desolate chamber,
    Where shadows coiled like serpents of despair.

    Each bit of void swallowed oppressively in silence,
    And dreams, like spectres, faded into the gloom,
    In the quietness, a haunting sorrow lingered.

    In shadows, regret festered,
    A reminder of lost prospects,
    Trapped in a labyrinth of misery.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Ghost of Death

    The Ghost of Death

    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

  • Rumbles Of Memories

    Rumbles Of Memories

    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