Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: cursed

  • Possessed And Haunted By My Yearnings

    Possessed And Haunted By My Yearnings

    Possessed and haunted by my yearnings, I was bewitched by demonic creatures and exquisite ghouls, which I worshipped each night devoutly.

    My heart had been dilapidated and torn apart by mortal shallow caprices. I did cast fatal spells that broke bones and obliterated kingdoms. My cravings were my ruin and delight.

    I felt pierced by arrows of passion, and I could breathe ecstatic instants of decay. I sought self-destruction. I was willing to give my soul away to the frosty wind of the winter nights.

    All my cherished dreams had been turned to ashes of sorrow. My heart was just a bloody piece of flesh with no mercy for those who abused and armed. Thus, I surrendered to rage and revenge.

    I screamed all my fury to the stars at midnight, and summoned my beloved demons, which listened carefully to my prayers. Therefore, the most violent storm annihilated those who took me for granted and those who replaced me with shallow puppets.

    I recited my poetic verses full of esotericism and black magic in the worst moments of dismay and mortification. I sang to the sun and to the moon my anguish while crying tears of blood. I wished for oblivion and fearless vengeance.

    My terrible sobs eclipsed the sound of thunder and maelstrom. Possessed and haunted by my yearnings, I was sorely lacking in my innocence. Instead, I had become the embodiment of lust.

    I begged all the underworld creatures to calm my anger down. Still, the only possible outcome was a chant of revenge, wrapped in a black rope and sealed with the wax of black and crimson candles.

    I conjured all the infernal spirits and sublime spectres, my most loyal companions, and they responded to my call. They unleashed turmoil and devastation, and they took me with them into their realm of Hades.

    Surrounded by crystal skulls and stone flowers, I had become a sorceress and the queen of shadows and forbidden realms. In my heart, there were only poison and curses. I sought corruption and sin. I finally lived in the realm of feral cravings, of depravity and of merciless darkness.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • Teardrops Of Blood

    Teardrops Of Blood

    Teardrops of blood descended on my cheeks like timid waterfalls
    While the cold freeze of a winter night stroked me
    A memento of my mortality and fragility
    Like dancing leaves falling from trees under the influence of an extravagant wind

    Since the day my evil fate threw me into a world of misery
    I escaped from reality to find myself in the realm of bizarre dreams and odd nightmares
    I had found myself living in a new world
    A place of ghostly apparitions and utopias

    Burning flowers became sparkling torches, guiding me in my journey
    In this labyrinth of darkness, I felt so overwhelmed that I could feel the scent of death
    The demise was waiting for me as if I couldn’t commit any mistake
    And I had to drink from the cup of poison that the oblivion offered me

    I became intoxicated by illusions and deceptions
    I started to believe every lie whispered to my heart
    And I bled all my soul out, crying teardrops of blood
    Random thoughts captured my mind, and it was like I was the captive of my own insanity

    I became the representation of sorrow and decay
    Not alive anymore, I was a wanderer of the underworld
    I didn’t belong anymore to the material reality
    I was an ethereal spirit of the darkness

    I became my own shadow and guide on an unknown route
    Not even the stars or the moon were there to lead the way for me
    I started to mourn myself because I knew my fate was doomed
    And death was there to wait for me

    In solitude and anguish, my teardrops of blood were my only comfort
    Poisoned and dazzled as I was, there was no resolution to my senseless disorder
    Madness had me as a captive in its cursed dungeon
    Surrounded by the skulls of those who perished from folly and frenzy.
    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

  • Shadows of the Eternal Night

    Shadows of the Eternal Night

    Shadows of the eternal night were hiding beyond the darkness,
    Veiled dreams coiling, drifting on winds so cold,
    Lost secrets tangled in webs of sorrowed stillness.

    The stars retired, their light consumed in a dimmed haze,
    Where spectres roamed through time-worn graves,
    And ancient oaths in hollow whispers praised.

    Each flower upon this hexed soil bore tales,
    Of souls long bound to sorrow’s endless plights,
    Where hope decayed, and love’s fair visage paled.

    Soft reveries became just faded vestiges,
    And scepticism obliterated every dream and desire,
    In a realm of brutality where beauty and magnificence were replaced by platitude.

    Beneath the nocturnal veil where promise hovered,
    Resided the sighs of anguish, drawn and lost,
    In silent mourning, under a moonless sky.

    Forgotten rhymes drifted like autumn leaves,
    Their faint sorrows lingered in the void,
    Bound by fate, in nights that never cleaved.

    Ghostly guises disclosed tales upon the mist,
    Of fragile lives now tethered to regret,
    In shadows ruling ominously whenever light and passions desisted.

    Ancient idols crumbled, haunted by decay,
    Their marbled stares held secrets left untold,
    A vigil kept for dawn that slipped away.

    The wind lamented in hollow, cadenced tones,
    Its chilling gusts were a requiem for hope,
    Where life withdrew, and death in darkness honed.

    The trees, with their dreary branches gnarled and bare,
    They were sentinels cast in the eerie twilight gloom,
    Witnesses to pain none could ever repair.

    Beneath the roots weaved webs of betrayal,
    Embracing misery, sealing completely dead vows,
    In earth-bound glooms, cursed and locked within.

    Each stone was engraved with words no vernacular may utter,
    A silent litany for spirits confined,
    By time’s cruel decree, eternally they sought.

    Shadows of the eternal night lingered, ruling among ruins and mournings,
    Where all was torn from life and love,
    And nothing remained bound to light or worlds unseen.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Enchantment

    The Enchantment

    The enchantment, a shadowed spell, had been cast beneath the twilight’s dying sigh,
    Where ancient oaks had swayed in the wind like phantoms of the past.
    A chant had echoed through the tangled woods, its cadence dark and deep,
    Awakening spirits have long forgotten from the caverns where they had slept.

    Amidst the stillness of nightfall, murmurs sighed endlessly,
    As unseen eyes had glowed dimly beneath a starless sky.
    The moon had hung low, a sallow face, pale as winter’s bone,
    Illuminating paths of sorrow where the lost souls had roamed alone.

    A mist had coiled through the midnight, cold fingers tracing near,
    Wrapping around the weary hearts that had beat with ascending fear.
    The trees, like crooked figures, had leaned closer to behold,
    The place where time had dissolved away, and every tale was told.

    At the circle’s heart, an altar had stood, adorned in faded lace,
    And there, a book of fateful words had lain bound in death’s embrace.
    With trembling restlessness, the pages had turned, each verse a dreadful sound,
    As secrets had slipped into the void and spun themselves around.

    The ground had begun to shake as shadows took their form,
    Emerging from the depths below, a writhing, ghastly swarm.
    Their voices had spoken in unison, a harmony of dread,
    Recalling all the lives once lived and all the blood once shed.

    Enchantments had surged through every vein, a venom cold and dark,
    Binding all who had ventured there with no hope of turning back.
    The winds had grown sharp, a biting chill that had pierced the very night,
    And overhead, the idylls had burned with a pale, infernal light.

    The spirits had danced in circles wide; their laughter had echoed grimly,
    A dirge that sang of vanished days and all that might have been.
    The ancient oaks had groaned softly as if burdened by despair,
    Their roots, entwined with cursed soil, had held fast in the bewitched air.

    The enchantment had deepened, drawing close, its tendrils ever tight,
    Until the world had grown distant, fading slowly from all sight.
    In the dark, the voices had faded, the spell complete at last,
    And silence had reigned where shadows had fallen upon the haunted past.

    Thus had lain the woods, forever bound by the magic’s cruel decree,
    A place where none could have ventured forth nor ever truly fled.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Abyss of Doom

    The Abyss of Doom

    The abyss of doom hunts me,
    Paving the way for my decay.
    Glorious illusions are not my guardians anymore,
    Hence, the darkness encloses me in a labyrinth of despair.

    The abyss of doom sees me wherever I roam,
    Wandering through a wild garden of wickedness,
    Surrounded by evil ghouls with burning eyes,
    Lonely and injured, striving for survival.

    I stumble through this forsaken realm,
    Where hope is a fleeting ghost,
    Fading into shadows with every step.
    The wind howls like a cursed whisper,
    Carrying with it the echoes of forgotten souls,
    Who once danced in the light,
    Now imprisoned in the eternal night.

    There is no mercy here, no salvation,
    Only the weight of my own dread.
    The ghouls laugh with hollow voices,
    Their eyes are aflame with the fire of my fear,
    And nevertheless, I press on through the thorns,
    Each step tears away the remnants of my strength.

    The abyss of doom knows my every thought,
    It feels my terror, my sorrow, my longing,
    For an escape that will never come.
    The sky above is blackened, choked with clouds,
    The ground below cracks under the weight of my despair.

    How long can I endure this torment?
    How far can one go when surrounded by spectres?
    The answers elude me, just as freedom does.
    I am lost in a maze where the walls close in,
    And every path leads deeper into oblivion.

    The flowers in this cursed garden are withered,
    Their petals fall like shattered dreams,
    Rotting under the harsh gaze of death.
    I cannot escape this realm of endless grief,
    Where each breath I take only brings me closer,
    To the abyss of doom that waits to claim me whole.

    And so I wander still, forever trapped,
    A soul adrift in the abyss of doom.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Obscurity and the Night

    The Obscurity and the Night

    The obscurity and the night
    Swallowed the manor’s cursed plight,
    Its shadows were long and dark, a blight,
    A realm where all hope took flight.

    In the labyrinth of forgotten screams,
    Where darkness devours all fractured dreams,
    The manor loomed—a rotting shell,
    Its secrets were drenched in spectral hell.

    Whispers gnawed at shattered stones,
    As ghostly breaths chilled to the bone,
    Once-bright corridors were now twisted, torn,
    Where shadows were left forsaken, forlorn, and worn.

    The echoes of shattered sanity,
    Reverberated through infinity,
    Eyes from portraits, hollow and glazed,
    Gazed upon a world crazed.

    Books lay strewn in a frenzied mess,
    Their pages were torn in mute distress,
    Tales of madness, ink smeared and grim,
    Drenched in a nightmare’s dim.

    The obscurity and the night
    Had cloaked the manor in its fright,
    Where fragments of delight, lost in space,
    Stirred the dust in a frenzied race.

    Fingers traced through cobwebbed lore,
    Seeking meaning on the floor,
    The hearth, cold and decayed,
    Held memories of lives betrayed.

    Cracks in the walls, whispers lost,
    Echoing tales of a ghastly cost,
    A cacophony of shadows spun,
    Twisting ‘neath the spectral sun.

    Broken chandeliers wept their tears,
    As phantom laughter seared the ears,
    The grand staircase, once proud and tall,
    Crumpled in the night’s mad call.

    Ghostly figures waltzed in disarray,
    Their limbs a grotesque ballet,
    The air was thick with doom’s embrace,
    A void where hope couldn’t find its place.

    The obscurity and the night
    Held sway over every frenzied plight,
    Windows shattered, skies bled black,
    Stars devoured, no way back.

    The manor’s pulse, a frantic beat,
    A symphony of despair’s deceit,
    No dawn could pierce the raving black,
    No sun could force the night’s attack.

    The obscurity and the night
    Embraced the manor’s endless fright,
    A realm where sanity’s thread unravels tight,
    Lost forever in the obscurity of night.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Haunted Clock Tower

    The Haunted Clock Tower

    The haunted clock tower arose at the edge of the small town,
    A relic from a bygone era, tall and spindly in power,
    Its shadowed spire reached towards the sky,
    Casting long, eerie shapes as the night slipped by.

    The clock, once a symbol of progress and light,
    Hung silent, its hands frozen at midnight,
    People never spoke of it, only silently,
    For it harboured a presence that chilled to the bones.

    Its interior was a maze of rust and decay,
    With oil and neglect filling the air each day,
    Narrow stairs creaked underfoot in the gloom,
    Leading to darkness where the pendulum loomed.

    At midnight, the silence would shatter and fade,
    By a faint chime that seemed distant and played,
    Cold air grew colder, and fog would seep in,
    Swirling through cracks where the old clock had been.

    As the final chime echoed through the night,
    A ghostly figure appeared in the dim light,
    Dressed in a flowing gown, with fair hair,
    Their dark, gloomy eyes stared through the air.

    Among these ghouls was the spirit of a young maid,
    Who loved the clockmaker, but fate betrayed,
    She leapt from the tower, her grief bound tight,
    Her soul was forever cursed to haunt the stormy night.

    Tales told of her form in the windows seen,
    Her longing eyes and sorrowful sheen,
    Her voice on the wind, a chilling, soft cry,
    The tower’s gears groaned as if to reply.

    Brave wanderers ventured in at the witching hour,
    Felt an overwhelming despair, a ghostly power,
    Saw glimpses of her flicker, a spectral flight,
    The chime of the clock brought shivers of fright.

    At dawn, she would fade, and the silence would return,
    The clock stood still, its message unturned,
    A sombre reminder of love and hope lost to time,
    Her haunting presence became an echo in rhyme.

    The folks did not dare approach but kept their distance,
    Avoiding the haunted clock tower with spectral persistence.
    Some spirits were bound too deep to ever find peace,
    Their sorrow remained, and their echoes never ceased.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Living Secret

    The Living Secret

    The living secret lay in the heart of an ancient wood,
    Where shadows whispered, and wind brooded,
    A secret lived, long kept in the gloom,
    Breathing within the forest’s tombs.

    Whispers of sorrow filled the air,
    Ghostly figures, pale and fair,
    Guarded the tale of dreams and dread,
    Bound to secrets, never dead.

    Moonlight seeped through twisted trees,
    Casting shadows, eerie frieze,
    Where the past and present met,
    A haunting dance, silent yet fleet.

    In the stillness of the night,
    A lantern’s glowed, pale and slight,
    And revealed the secret, living still,
    Hidden in the vale and hill.

    Once a love, now turned to woe,
    In whispers, its sorrow flowed,
    Bound by fate and time’s cruel hand,
    A tale that none could understand.

    Caution was required for those who dared,
    For the living secret lingered there,
    In the heart of the ancient wood,
    Where shadows whispered, and wind brooded.

    Beyond the veil, shadows lingered,
    Reaching out with ghostly touches,
    Eyes like embers, burning bright,
    Glimmering beacon in the endless night.

    They waited for those who would break the chain,
    To lift the curse, to end the pain,
    But none returned from whence they went,
    Lost to the secret’s chilling glow.

    A melody, both sweet and sad,
    Echoed through the glade, so bad,
    Alluring those whose desires belonged,
    To join the wraiths where they indulged.

    Treacherous was the path that led too far,
    Where night concealed the morning star,
    For in the dark, the secret lay,
    Living in the mournful cries.

    Ancient trees with twisted limbs,
    Hid the faces, grim and dim,
    Of souls that wandered, lost and cold,
    In search of peace, they never told.

    Through the mist, a whisper called,
    From forgotten, crumbling halls,
    Where the living secret bided its time,
    A tale spun from sorrow’s rhyme.

    No warning could have saved the brave and bold,
    Of secrets ancient, dark, and old,
    For in the heart of shadowed wood,
    A living secret quietly stood.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Cursed Lantern

    The Cursed Lantern

    The cursed lantern glimmered in a village swallowed by the night,
    Where moonlight dared not tread,
    The lantern swayed with ghostly light,
    Its flame was a spectral thread.

    Beneath the sky of ink and fear,
    The lantern’s glow revealed,
    A dance of shadows drawing near,
    In silent, haunted reels.

    On cobbled streets and through the mist,
    Where echoes seemed to breathe,
    The lantern showed what once was kissed,
    By fate, in shadows wreathed.

    Each flicker told a tale of woe,
    Of lives entwined in pain,
    A family’s sorrow, long ago,
    Their stories were lost in the rain.

    The whispers arose from empty graves,
    From echoes deep and cold,
    Their shadows stretched, and souls were entrapped,
    Into tales forever untold.

    In darkened alleys, secrets were clinging,
    The past breathed with each sway,
    Unsettling scenes the lantern brought,
    As night consumed the day.

    A flower wept by ancient trees,
    A leaf’s laughter faded,
    In ghostly scenes and memories,
    The lantern’s light invaded.

    And when the dawn began to break,
    The lantern dimmed away,
    In a gloom where spirits stirred,
    The curses that had ever lingered.

    Beneath the spectral light it cast,
    The village’s heart grew still,
    Each haunting vision from the past,
    Fulfilled a darkened will.

    Through misty veils and shadows deep,
    The lantern showed the way,
    A spectral guide that could not sleep,
    As night erased the day.

    The eerie glow revealed lost scenes,
    Of lives once full of cheer,
    Now trapped within the lantern’s beams,
    Bound by sorrow and fear.

    A flower wept by ancient trees,
    A leaf’s laughter faded,
    In ghostly scenes and memories,
    The lantern’s light invaded.

    In every flicker, every flare,
    The village’s fate was sealed,
    A tale of loss, of endless care,
    By shadows ever revealed.

    Its light was a beacon of the past,
    Where spectral voices sighed,
    The lantern’s curse, a shadow cast,
    In every tear, it cried.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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