Tag: autumn

  • A Tragic Fate

    A Tragic Fate

    A tragic fate ruled beneath a mournful autumn sky,
    A forsaken shade stood with a tearful eye,
    And a stare falling upon a distant stone,
    Where memories lay carved in bone.

    The winds had howled low; the trees had bent near,
    Whispers were carried, fraught with fear.
    A tragic fate, so cruelly spun,
    The story ended where it had begun.

    It was a gloomy tale of a life forever paused,
    A frail and fair existence swallowed by despair’s cruel snare.
    The wanderer watched as doom took its due,
    Helpless as its darkness grew.

    A wilted rose lay upon a grave,
    A token of a life once given.
    In nights that wept and days that knew despair,
    Absence haunted in hollow air.

    The earth was consumed, the coffin decayed,
    Life was reduced to memories soon forgotten.
    What solace could the grieving find,
    When death had left the world behind?

    The ravens summoned from their twisted trees,
    Evoked echoes lingered in the bitter breeze.
    Forgotten mortal fragments traced the path,
    To where the silent shadows did laugh.

    A chill resided in every gust of heft,
    Every sigh became a dirge that spoke of death.
    The sky hung heavy, draped in grey,
    As if mourning the world’s decay.

    In every shroud of mist that swirled,
    The darkness deepened, and silence curled.
    Beneath the ground, the roots entwined,
    To claim a body once divine.

    The clock ticked on, though spirits faded,
    Their murmurs were lost where graves were laid.
    And as the night unfolded its veil,
    The air grew thick with a mournful wail.

    Beneath the mournful autumn shade,
    Two souls rested, their debts repaid.
    The earth reclaimed its lost embrace,
    And time forgot each sorrowed face.

    In the gloom, an eerie glare burnt in all its might,
    It kept flickering dimly through the night.
    It wove between the gravestones’ gloom,
    A ghostly waltz, a dance of doom.

    At last, voices from the shadows called,
    They whispered tales of love’s great fall.
    The leaves rustled with each breath,
    Carrying echoes of untimely death.
    A tragic fate was inevitable for the eternity.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Crumbled Castle of Lost Expectations

    The Crumbled Castle of Lost Expectations

    The crumbled castle of lost expectations stood in ruins beneath an indifferent sky,
    Its arches bent, its towers broken,
    Its promises faded away too soon.

    Winds howled through the hollowed halls,
    Where once the fate bright had shone.
    Dreams drifted like the autumn leaves,
    Long dead but never entirely gone.

    Shattered windows framed the sky,
    Where hope once rose but now fell fast.
    The crumbled castle of lost expectations
    Watched as time dragged out the past.

    Its walls had held such hopes and dreams,
    But those were buried deep in stone.
    Each vow, each word, each fleeting thought,
    Eroded by time, cold and alone.

    Forgotten by the world outside,
    Its gates, once open, were now closed tight.
    A monument to loss and grief,
    It drowned in the depth of endless night.

    The crumbled castle of lost expectations was a haven once,
    But like all things, it too decayed,
    Its walls were too frail to endlessly endure.

    There were relics and memories from years gone by,
    But now they were just ghosts in the air.
    Colours and glimmers, faint, like shadows passed,
    Through corridors that lead nowhere.

    A kingdom built on fragile hope,
    Now overtaken by despair.
    Every dream that once gleamed radiant now lay broken,
    Scattered everywhere.

    Vines crept over forgotten doors,
    Their tendrils strangled what remained,
    And ivy choked the marble floors,
    In time’s indifferent, endless chains.

    The crumbled castle of lost expectations witnessed the love that turned to dust.
    No joy remained, no delight, no glow,
    Only fragments of misplaced trust.

    Each stone, once laid with tender hands,
    Now crumbles under sorrow’s poundage.
    The days grew long, the nights grew cold,
    And silence sealed its final fate.

    A tower, once monumental, collapsed in pain,
    Its windows were ravaged, stained with tears.
    It fell not with a roar or cry,
    But with a whisper through the years.

    The shattered castle of forsaken dreams stood now as a tomb to all that was gone,
    A hollow relic of dreams once lustrous,
    And lives that flickered out at dawn.

    No sun will rise, no dawn will break,
    No voices will call out its name.
    Only the wind will mourn its fate,
    And time will erase its fleeting flame.

    A silent ghost whose memories were too faint to be kept.
    The crumbled castle of lost expectations fell to dust and ceased to exist.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Dead Desires

    Dead Desires

    Dead desires lingered like ghosts,
    Hovering over ruins of faded aspirations,
    The giggles of delight that once filled the air turned to despair,
    A reminder of desires that withered away,
    Like autumn leaves crumbling into dust,
    Beneath the weight of relentless time.

    In the stillness of forsaken dreams,
    Shadows swirled under the tree of hopes that once thrived,
    Weaving through remnants of a forgotten past,
    Each piece of yearning faded into the void,
    As the heart’s vibrant ache succumbed to silence,
    Lost in the echoes of what could have been.

    Days, once painted in vivid hues,
    Became shrouded in muted greys,
    Each moment became a cruel reminder,
    Of warmth that slipped through fingers,
    The chill of time’s cruel embrace
    Froze every hope into lifelessness.

    A single tear traced a path down a cheek,
    Carrying the burden of unfulfilled wishes,
    The heart, once a vessel of fervour,
    Now beat with a hollow rhythm,
    A metronome marking unachieved desires,
    Each tick resonated with loss.

    Dead desires drifted like fallen leaves,
    Words unspoken, deeply felt,
    In the stillness, they hung heavy,
    As the moon illuminated the decay of hope,
    Scattering dreams like ashes in the wind,
    Leaving only shadows of what had been.

    As twilight approached, the air grew colder,
    Each breath was a reminder of dreams abandoned,
    The heart ached for the fire it once held,
    Now, only embers remained,
    Smouldering in the corners of a darkened soul,
    A monument to the dead desires that lingered on.

    In the quiet corners of memory,
    The shadows whispered tales of longing,
    The paths not taken became a haunting refrain,
    As the heart learned to dwell in the silence,
    Embracing the sorrow that filled the void,
    Finding beauty in the ashes of dreams.

    Dead desires echoed through the aisles of time,
    A haunting melody of what might have been,
    Reverberating through the deepest depths of the abyss,
    And, in their sight, the heart understood,
    That within each ember lay a spark of hope,
    A reminder that even in loss, tragedy can unveil meaning.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Withering Tree

    The Withering Tree

    The Withering Tree
    by Esther Elizabeth Racah

    The withering tree stood bare amidst the wood,
    Its branches once reached for skies long gone.
    Leaves had fallen where they proudly stood,
    Resilience faded with each new dawn.

    Its trunk was gnarled, scarred by time,
    Rooted deep in forsaken earth.
    It had struggled to grasp a fleeting rhyme
    Of seasons past and vanished mirth.

    Winter winds had howled through its limbs,
    Shaking loose the last of pride.
    Each gust was a reminder of forgotten hymns
    In the cold where warmth had died.

    Spring had brought no buds from its bark,
    No whispers of renewal’s grace.
    The withering tree remained stark in the dark,
    A witness to nature’s cruel embrace.

    Summer’s sun had bypassed its boughs,
    Casting shadows on its forlorn frame.
    While life thrived in neighbouring crowds,
    The tree had stood still, devoid of flame.

    Autumn had arrived, but no colours blazed—
    They had long since faded away.
    The withering tree had endured in a sombre daze,
    A symbol of endless, silent decay.

    The ground beneath it had cracked and dried,
    No rain to quench its thirsty roots.
    Silent beneath an empty sky,
    Where once it had borne green shoots.

    Each storm that passed had left no mark;
    Its branches swayed but never bent.
    The tree had remained a hollow arc,
    Its growth and life long spent.

    It stood as a sombre sight,
    A monument to forgotten days.
    Its vibrant leaves had lost their light,
    In a landscape shrouded by decay’s haze.

    As seasons changed and years went by,
    The tree became a ghostly shade.
    Its story whispered to the sky,
    In silence, where it slowly decayed.

    In the forest where it once reigned,
    The withering tree’s memory waned—
    A symbol of time’s relentless strain,
    Where life’s echoes had long been drained.

  • The Ghosts Of Yesterday

    The Ghosts Of Yesterday

    The ghosts of yesterday hid beneath the weeping willow tree,
    Where shadows danced in eerie spree,
    A graveyard silently mourned the dead,
    With whispered secrets softly revealed.

    The moonlight cast a spectral glow,
    On tombstones lined in solemn rows,
    Each name had a story carved in stone,
    Of lives now lost, of souls alone.

    In this cold ground, they found no rest,
    Their spirits were heavy and oppressed,
    They wandered beneath the mournful skies,
    With hollow hearts and tearful eyes.

    Once vibrant lives, now dimmed by time,
    In spectral plays, in mournful rhyme,
    They lingered everywhere in silent grief,
    Their only solace was autumn’s leaves.

    The nights grew long, the days were few,
    And shadows lengthened, taking hue,
    In this place where time stood immobile,
    The air became cold with winter’s chill.

    A figure dressed in gloomy grief,
    Sorrow etched upon their face,
    Weeping for love that slipped away,
    For dreams that died in disarray.

    A fleeting life in empty nights, in endless despair,
    Lost in echoes of forgotten longings,
    Grasping at shadows that vanished in the air,
    Yearning for solace that’s never there.

    They haunted the night, they haunted the day,
    In endless search, they found no way,
    Their whispers chilled the autumn air,
    Their presence was felt but never there.

    During the long walks through this dark place,
    Beware the ghosts, their sorrowed grace,
    For in their eyes, there will be fears,
    In their whispers, there will be tears.

    In this desolate land of endless grief,
    Each memory served as a thief,
    Stealing joy, sowing woe,
    In a place where only shadows grew.

    The wind carried their mournful sighs,
    Through moonlit nights and cloudy skies,
    An eternal flow of grief and sorrow,
    Where no dawn promised a brighter tomorrow.

    The ghosts of yesterday forever dwelled in this arcane realm,
    Trapped in their own eternal misery.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Hollow Graveyard

    The Hollow Graveyard

    The hollow graveyard lay beneath the yew,
    Where darkness spread among the dead,
    Its gates were rusted, old, and cold,
    A story of the lost untold.

    Each headstone marked a name erased,
    By time’s relentless, cruel haste,
    The paths were lined with autumn leaves,
    A carpet for the hearts that grieved.

    The trees, they whispered secrets dark,
    Of broken souls and sorrow stark,
    Their branches twisted like hands in pain,
    Reaching out in death’s domain.

    A spectre stood with wings outspread,
    His face was veiled, and his eyes were dead,
    He wept for those who sleep below,
    In silence deep, where shadows grew.

    The wind howled a mournful tune,
    Beneath the pale and ghostly moon,
    It carried with it cries of old,
    Of stories tragic yet untold.

    The wind’s laughter, now a wail,
    A night that sighed in a ghostly veil,
    Ghouls wandered through the mist and gloom,
    Their spirits were trapped within decrepit tombs.

    In the hall, stained glass glows,
    With colours lost to time’s cruel blows,
    The benches were empty, in the midst of dust-filled air,
    Where voices once rose, now lost despair.

    The clock tower struck the midnight hour,
    A tolling bell, a voice of power,
    It echoed through the hollow night,
    A sound that filled the heart with fright.

    Whoever walked through these old gates,
    They were wary of the past that time berated,
    For in the hollow graveyard, shadows of dismay lay,
    And in its silence, ghosts still cried.

    The moonlight danced on moss-covered stones,
    Casting eerie patterns, hauntingly alone,
    The silence of the night grew heavy with dread,
    As whispers of the past filled the air with lead.

    In the stillness, shadows seemed to breathe,
    A spectral presence, a chill that seethed,
    The nighttime, a labyrinth of sorrow and pain,
    Wove stories of the lost that remained.

    The mist curled tightly around each vault,
    A shroud that held the past tightly gripped,
    Echoes of forgotten tales softly sighed,
    As restless spirits in their hollow graves confided.

    Ancient oaks with bare branches,
    Held secrets in the cold night air,
    Their gnarled limbs stretched out like a plea,
    For solace in eternity’s decree.

    As dawn approached with its pale, wan light,
    The graveyard lay still, embracing the night,
    But shadows lingered where the living dared not tread,
    In a realm where the quiet and the haunted wedded.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Time Has Slipped Away

    Time Has Slipped Away

    Time has slipped away as fast as pouring rain
    In the dark and sunny sky
    Emptiness and fragility are made in a storm
    There’s sunshine on every side of your nest
    The wind sings through the grass with warm trees
    In snowstorms in winter, I have thrived
    Time has slipped away as fast as pouring rain
    As the world should have a chance to exist
    The sun is bright, always more everywhere
    Rocks of storms hit the morning as it changes
    Not so far
    Life was created before memories
    A loss shall come into every dream
    And nevermore were the birds singing
    In a world that might be born again today
    Time has slipped away as fast as pouring rain
    Raindrops were similar to a breeze sweeping the leaves of summer
    And when autumn will change its essence
    The daytime might not be warm forever
    It shall dwell, but not in this fate
    That does only come to see night again
    in a lost day when memories were born
    Memories become shattered
    whenever tears could have been spent on death,
    Not enough before all happiness was lost
    Even if I never had back my sorrows again
    Time has slipped away as fast as pouring rain
    Like an early spring day of the year
    The time had disappeared
    Whenever the wind and the clouds move toward my eyes
    Every pointless fear is so far beyond me
    My dreams can stand glum but cannot be seen or remembered again
    Before I aim to be alive
    Timeless visions are made of unperceivable illusions and phantasmagorias
    Time has slipped away as fast as pouring rain
    And remarkable beauty resides in true peace
    Whilst a reckless creation is an obscure snare
    Trying to climb on illusory and fierce mirrors
    Which are sliding doors to deceitful opportunities.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Lost In The Desert Of My Mind

    Lost In The Desert Of My Mind

    Lost in the desert of my mind

    Wandering nowhere
    In the incertitude of the night
    Time is defeating me silently
    I am keeping myself silent and invisible right now
    Like a quiet breeze coming from the sea
    Every instant is a lifetime
    I need something that pushes me to the edges of my sanity
    Being stuck like a sailboat on a pond
    On a misty day in a dreary autumn
    I am perpetually lost in the desert of my mind
    Detached from the realm around me
    I can finally fall into the deepest and deadliest dream of my life
    Careless about pains and death
    Being aware of the chance of human misery loss.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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