The spell of death was cast beneath the shroud of twilight’s darkness,
Like a poisonous ivy with tendrils creeping through the shadow’s gate,
To bind the souls to a woeful and inexorable fate,
While the night devoured hope, sealing every dreadful fate.
The atmosphere was gloomy and tainted by whispers of despair,
As spirits writhed in torment’s snare,
Their cries were like distant thunder in the dimmed air.
The cauldron’s brew did bubble and hiss,
Unleashing doom with a ghostly kiss.
In midnight’s chill, the spirits wept,
For those ensnared in shadows kept,
Their agony echoed through the hollow crypt,
The ancient curse, a binding vow,
Wrought in sorrow, sealed somehow.
From crypts below, the dark arts arose,
Enchanting mourners’ despondent like dead roses,
And spreading dread like frost’s cruel fingers on a winter’s night.
The moon looked on, a spectral glare,
As death’s cold fingers filled the air.
Once summoning words did invoke despair,
A cauldron boiled in the witches’ lair.
They chanted doom with a hollow tone,
Their voices echoed like graveyard stone.
The candles flickered, life faded pale,
As shadows writhed and spirits wailed,
While the flames danced wildly to the cursed wind’s breath.
Through dust and ash, a chill descended,
The curse persisted; it never ended.
Bones rattled in the dampened earth,
Their souls were condemned, with no hope for rebirth.
A heart that pounded was not supposed to beat anymore,
Entombed within death’s dreadful lore.
Beneath the obscure veil of night’s caress,
The darkness deepened, and horrors did press.
The spell of death was cast; none could have been saved,
For death has come, and silence craved.
In this realm of delightful derealisation,
Nightmares came true as real visions,
Of ghosts and demons that danced with glee,
Amid stormy winds of dark eternity.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
