Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: ancient sorrows

  • The Veil Of An Old Mill

    The Veil Of An Old Mill

    The veil of an old mill creaked with age-old strain,
    Its wheels no longer turned in light,
    Silent then, the gears refrained,
    From whirring through the endless night.

    The river’s edge was overgrown,
    With tangled weeds and mossy grey,
    And in the stillness, whispers droned,
    Of lives long lost and slipped away.

    The shadows in the windows loomed,
    Their outlines blurred in spectral hue,
    A faded light, a musty gloom,
    Where time had etched its darkened view.

    The mill’s dark loft, a hidden place,
    Where time and dust had left their mark,
    Held secrets veiled in darkened space,
    And echoes from a past gone dark.

    Beneath the beams, the dust lay thick,
    With traces of forgotten lore,
    A murmur there, a shiver quick,
    Of tales that haunted the old mill’s floor.

    The wheelhouse was then empty, bare,
    Yet something stirred within the deep,
    A restless breath hung in the air,
    Where ancient sorrows lay asleep.

    In a moonlit haze, the spirits danced,
    Around the mill’s forsaken heart,
    Their steps a spectral, mournful trance,
    That shadows in the night imparted.

    And though the mill was still and cold,
    Its heart still beated with ghostly grace,
    The veil of time was dark and old,
    Yet whispers haunted its hollow space.

    The creaking timbers groaned and moaned,
    As if they held a mournful tale,
    With each gust of wind, a spectral groan,
    Each creak, a whisper of the pale.

    The empty gears and rusted chains,
    Now silent in their ancient sorrow,
    Spoke of labour lost in vain,
    And ghosts that lingered through the morrow.

    The old mill’s walls were etched with dirt,
    A canvas of the ages past,
    Each crack and stain, a mark of time,
    Where shadows of the lost were cast.

    The echoes of the past remained,
    In every corner, every seam,
    A place where sorrow’s ghosts sustained,
    And shadows wove their haunting dream.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Beneath The Hollow Tree

    Beneath The Hollow Tree

    Beneath the hollow tree’s dark crown,
    Where twisted branches reached the sky,
    A whisper rustled softly down,
    From roots that mourned and never died.

    The earth around was cold and still,
    Where mournful spectres tended the ground,
    An ancient silence dreaded to fill,
    A world where lost souls were unbound.

    The gnarled trunk, both wise and worn,
    Held tales of curses, bittersweet,
    Of dreams lost and desires forlorn,
    And echoes from the roots’ deceit.

    A hollow wind began to weave,
    Through branches bent in sorrow’s plea,
    A ghostly sigh, a spirit’s grieve,
    That lingered in the twilight’s sea.

    The moonlight cast a spectral glow,
    Through leaves that whispered ghostly magic spells,
    A realm where time was too slow to show,
    And shadows danced perpetually.

    In the tree’s hollow, dark and deep,
    An old, forgotten grave resided,
    Where phantoms in their silence wept,
    And rested beneath the spectral tides.

    A voice once soft now rose clear,
    To beckon those who dared to tread,
    A plea to listen, to draw near,
    To hear the stories of the dead.

    Yet those who heeded the mournful call,
    May have found their fate entwined in woe,
    For beneath the hollow tree’s dark fall,
    The spirits of the lost did grow.

    The roots stretched deep into the dark,
    Where ancient sorrows intertwined,
    Each tendril held a ghostly mark,
    Of lives interwoven with fate’s design.

    The wind’s lament was cold and stark,
    A melody of loss and grief,
    It sings of dreams left in the dark,
    Of shadows yearning for relief.

    The tree’s dark form stood still and grim,
    A sentinel of endless night,
    Its branches weaved a sombre hymn,
    In moonlit haze and spectral light.

    Beneath its boughs, the stories lay,
    In whispered tales of days long past,
    A haunted world where shadows sighed,
    And echoes of the loss were cast.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • In The Dark Of Shadows

    In The Dark Of Shadows

    In the dark of shadows, sadness wove its tale,
    Moonlight gleamed like silver through a misty veil,
    Obscure secrets fluttered underneath ancient trees,
    Where the wind’s lament echoed ghostly pleas.

    Silent shrieks reverberated in the night’s embrace,
    Clouds danced like phantoms in hidden places,
    Stars glinted like the eyes of spectres gone astray,
    Leading through the gloom, where forgotten pathways lay.

    The murmur of the river sang a sombre tune,
    Reflecting on broken mirrors beneath the haunted moon,
    Cloaked in night’s deep sorrow, the forest softly wept,
    For dreams hid abandoned, where the darkness crept.

    Through the tangled branches, memories entwined,
    Of souls who wandered restlessly through the sands of time,
    A shiver that enveloped murmurs of the past,
    Stories were left unspoken, and shadows were cast.

    In the dark of shadows, where time itself never died,
    Lost loves and broken promises haunted the midnight freeze,
    The ivy on the gravestones and rustles in the breeze,
    Revealing silent verses to the withered leaves.

    Beneath the pallid starlight, memories and regrets stood alone,
    In the heart of silence, where ancient sorrows groaned,
    Eyes that burned like embers in the cold and dark nights,
    Seeking solace in the whispers of the ghostly light.

    The darkness held a mirror to the soul’s deep well,
    Reflecting hidden fears in its shadowed spell,
    In the dark of shadows, truths were concealed,
    Of arcane sorrows and mysteries still sealed.

    So lingered in the twilight, where shadows wove and wended,
    Silence kept all the dark dreams,
    For in the heart of night, where shadows softly faded away,
    Enigmas hid beneath the eternal darkness.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

© Esther Racah 2025. All rights reserved.