Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: Dark Poetry

  • The Kingdom Of Paradoxes And Absurdities

    The Kingdom Of Paradoxes And Absurdities

    The kingdom of paradoxes and absurdities was the place where bullying and arrogance reigned supreme, sovereign over vulgarity and stupidity. They wallpapered the walls of every place that held court in such a realm.

    Anything that could be imagined was both unreal and real at the same time. It could exist or not exist. Absurdity, however, was the master of the place. Thus, everything my logic deemed possible was tangible and predictable. In truth, it could neither take place nor be actualised in such sovereignty.

    I cannot say that I was dreaming, nor can I say that I was awake. In a state of shock and surrender of my ego, I could no longer even discern whether I was daydreaming or hallucinating. All I could say was what my sensations and perceptions made me feel in every part of my soul and heart, in every part of my body.

    Although I had firmly decided not to bend to the will of others, not to bow down or worship the conventions imposed on me persistently, I fell into a deadly trap—a kind of imprisonment, a state of captivity from which I could not free myself. Invisible chains that I felt and perceived in my body and heart held dominion over my life and my way of thinking.

    My jewellery box had been plundered. All my secrets had been revealed by indiscreet tongues. And my protection had vanished. It was as if I had become a defenceless flower in the midst of a threatening desert.

    I had to say goodbye to my version of myself, which was no longer alive. I had to say goodbye to all those visions that had deceived me falsely, when my naivety clouded my sight.

    In the kingdom of paradoxes and absurdities, I had to succumb and suffer. I had nowhere else to go. And the more I tried to escape, the more it seemed that this strange land expanded beneath my feet, preventing me from crossing its high and menacing walls. And what could the sky do but watch me, almost mocking me in an indifferent and cynical manner.
    Lisa

  • Dreams Of Oblivion

    Dreams Of Oblivion

    Dreams of oblivion darkened my sleep.
    They were like palliatives for my searing pain,
    numbing my heart and soothing—
    If only for a moment—
    My spasms of fear.

    My disappointments had become like cobwebs woven inside my heart,
    darkening every joy, even the smallest.
    Ultimately, I had not chosen my fate,
    and I groped in the dark uncertainty,
    trying to understand where I was and who I was.

    The disdain and aloofness that oozed from the faces of mortals who had crossed my miserable existence
    had transformed me into a silent, sombre shadow
    whose image did not appear in any mirror.

    In my dreams of oblivion and madness, mediocre monsters that sought to tear me apart
    appeared menacingly in the realm I tried to protect and keep as mine.
    Their intrusion was truly an act of violence.
    Their intent to destroy me was the source of my fears.

    Ancient dusty clocks tolled the time, which always seemed the same.
    The dust of decay and sorrow fell upon me like a heavy rain,
    covering me completely and turning me into an invisible shell.

    Watchful and evanescent veils covered me, so as not to show me the harsh reality whose injustice and squalor could have tainted the integrity of my heart. And my attempt to awaken from that stupor mixed with despair was in vain.

    I was about to become oblivion.
    I was about to become my dreams.
    I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
    almost invisible and nonexistent,
    that no mortal of the common reality
    could have seen with their limited gaze
    shrouded in prejudice.
    I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
    almost invisible and nonexistent,
    that no mortal of the common reality
    could have seen with their limited gaze
    shrouded in prejudice.

    Perhaps I myself was an illusion,
    perhaps I had become a utopia or a chimaera.
    The devastating pain had transformed me
    and erased every trace of my mortality.
    Lisa

  • Mournful Shadows

    Mournful Shadows

    In the stillness of the night, the sky was stormy and overcrowded with lightning and thunder. Rain was pouring down, and the wind was impetuous.

    The exquisite scent of rainwater perfumed my small chamber from which I glimpsed the dark and stormy landscape.

    Chaos and order alternated in my bleak soul, full of grief. A piercing funereal pain had gripped my entire essence.

    Intrusive thoughts and faded hopes crowded my mind as if they were unwelcome intruders, not invited by me.

    Joy and darkness unfolded like buds in my soul, becoming thorny briars that wounded my heart and tore apart my being.

    The bright sun, dethroned in the sky by great threatening and dark clouds in a midsummer storm, was no longer on my visual horizon, making me reflect on my bleak and mortal fate, which condemned me to a sense of perpetual anguish.

    It was as if I had lost the ability to express all that I felt in my heart, the most hidden secrets and concealed truths that I had never been able to reveal to any mortal.

    My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.

    My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.

    Mournful shadows ruled over me.
    They were the ones who decided my path and my fate.
    They were invisible, yet present—and immensely powerful.
    I felt like a doll, a puppet, at the mercy of their whimsical desires and decisions.

    And so I perished,
    by the hand of my own fears,
    by the hand of my own funeral anguish,
    And I became a mournful shadow myself,
    No different from the others.
    Lisa

  • The Eleventh Gate

    The Eleventh Gate

    The Eleventh Gate stood in the underworld — silent, unmarked.
    I wandered, neither living nor dead,
    Caught between shadows that whispered secrets I could not grasp,
    Searching for meaning in that endless twilight of souls.

    17:17 appeared to me
    While I was confused by the thoughts that crowded my mind
    And darkened my heart,
    Searching and hoping for a way — for a way out —
    Which did not seem obvious,
    Given that I found myself in the labyrinth of death,
    In a world suspended, beneath that of the mortals.

    How I found myself in that world, I think I have remembered it:
    that chariot of skeletons and spectres, of demons from the underworld,
    had overwhelmed me and taken me away
    into their grotesque world of nightmares.

    Monsters adorned in sparse and ancient garments
    wore grotesque masks and stared at me with their dead,
    Yet burning eyes,
    as if they could read my heart,
    and they sneered at my fears and weaknesses,
    and at my ethereal, mortal being.

    I had become a captive of that world, a world of shadows and wraiths.
    Subjugated to their power, I could not resist,
    And my steps grew heavier and heavier,
    as if they echoed the weight of my heart,
    which had become a heap of metal shards and thorns.

    Exhausted and bloodless, I surrendered,
    and no longer felt that languid sense of torpor and melancholy.
    Horror and chills had gripped my entire body,
    And the beating of my heart stopped
    like a broken pendulum clock.

    I crossed the Eleventh Gate, seventeen times seventeen,
    And with each passing, a part of my heart fell
    upon the ground made of bones and carcasses and mud and buried souls.
    And thus it was that I collapsed,
    into a terrible slumber.
    Of death.
    Lisa

  • The Oracle Of The Withered Roots

    The Oracle Of The Withered Roots

    The oracle of the withered roots stood silent above me,
    As I wandered beneath a sky split by its eye
    While silence whispered thunders and nightmares,
    And the origins of the world gnarled like a bone-stuffed monster
    Its speech was in a tongue older than rot.

    They called it the oracle,
    The tree that remembered all betrayals,
    and fed on forgotten truths.

    Around it, ash-walkers and crawling fates
    circled around the blue flame of judgment,
    and I, unnamed, felt the mark sear through my skin,
    As slashes that revealed my defeat and destruction.

    All kinds of nasty creatures surrounded me as I was their potential prey,
    They were ready to violate and devour me,
    They were there to rip my heart apart into infinite fragments of dreams.

    Each tree was the custodian of skulls and arcane rituals,
    As they moved forward their sacred flame,
    A blaze blue like the deepest abyss of solitude.

    Tempted to adore this blue flame or this blue fire by all these creatures that at times seemed obsessed by it, at times frightened.
    From these spirits and monsters, I could perceive fears and enthusiasts and enthusiasms that alternated in their life, which could not be called joyful, gentle, or even glad.

    The oracle of the withered roots gazed through its curious and overbearing eye, trying to peer into my heart, but in vain. My soul was a labyrinth of torments and delights, and being unable to discern its true essence, it grew angry with me and condemned me to a restless and uneasy life, to wander in search of myself.

    The skulls smiled at me with their grin,
    which seemed more like a mockery,
    as if to say: “Soon enough, you too shall join our kingdom.”

    The other winged creatures brushed past me
    With their curious, cunning eyes,

    as if to urge me to leap
    into the abyss of the unknown —

    At first, it appeared to be a small pond,
    in truth, it concealed a chasm of nothingness.
    Lisa

  • The Memories Of The Past

    The Memories Of The Past

    The memories of the past drag me into their swirling realm of despair.
    Alone, I find myself in a desolate place, a pit of the living dead—buried memories in the graveyard of my past. All I see are rows of lifeless trees.

    I pretend it is autumn, or perhaps winter, yet in truth this entire landscape is but a reflection of my dead and decaying soul.
    The darkness of the night does not frighten me—on the contrary, it is part of me. I am no longer who I once was; I have become a spirit of the night.

    The emptiness within me is filled with fears and regrets, and with all that I have lost unconditionally and irreversibly—things I shall never have again. And thus, the wreck of my existence: not only is it wretched, but also laden with pain.

    My cries of pain and my screams of despair are worth nothing. I have never been worth anything—only to wither my soul, already inscribed with daggers of disappointment and betrayals, inflicted by monstrous and mortally deplorable beings.

    All my crumpled desires and shattered dreams lie underground among the remnants of my memories and regrets. Left without emotions and left without words, I surrender to my nightmares, to my anguished obsessions that permeate my heart and tear it into a thousand pieces.

    My tormentors advance relentlessly, ready to tear me apart and destroy me in oblivion and forgetfulness. How much longer I must suffer, I do not know. I only know that cruel fate has entrusted me to the ship of the wretched and lost souls.

    The memories of my past haunt me insolently and give me no peace, and so I shall spend the eternity of my non-existence as a restless spirit.
    Lisa

  • The Embrace Of The Shadows

    The Embrace Of The Shadows

    The embrace of the shadows woke me up
    It was midnight, and I had fallen deep into the ocean of dreams
    Crimson roses had blossomed around me
    I was wandering in the luscious garden of lust

    I had become a creature of the darkness
    I was the bride of an incubus who chased me in my nightmares
    He visited me every eternal night
    Draining me of my blood and soul

    My supernatural existence was entwined with decay and grief
    While my demon claimed me as his devoted servant
    Mesmerised by his enchantment
    I let him bind me in chains

    His poisonous kisses intoxicated me
    I felt bewitched and hypnotised by his presence
    He followed me wherever I went
    Taking the form of a magnificent crow

    I was crying blood while a crown of red roses and thorns was resting upon my hair
    A symbol of my enduring anguish that I cherished with devotion
    My heart was pierced by daggers of passion and torment
    I was bound eternally to my divine master

    I was obsessively enslaved by fervour and pain
    I found endless delight in every pang he inflicted
    For each bleeding wound, I felt an ecstatic pleasure
    The chains around my body made me feel free

    In the embrace of the shadows
    I had become a creature of the darkness
    My dark wings carried me, enticed by the lullabies of nightfall
    Following my beloved ghoul in the wilderness of darkness and oblivion

    I was merrily doomed and I sank deeper into the abyss of forbidden desires
    Conscious I was not anymore and my senses overwhelmed my mind
    I was the darkness, the shadows and the abyss of oblivion
    My dark sovereign had taken complete possession of me
    And I felt a blissful euphoria inside myself
    We were the same creatures
    Made of lust, grief, and ecstatic decay.
    Elisabetta

  • The Shadows Of Affliction

    The Shadows Of Affliction

    The shadows of affliction hunted me in the night
    They awakened me in the middle of my slumber
    Like a fever that gripped my body with its sharp claws
    It always left me crying on my bed with a bleeding heart
    Submerged in my teardrops I kept my soul wide open
    As if I could get more dazed than the night before

    Echoes of my lost dreams resounded in my obscure chamber
    They made me feel like a withered flower with no hopes
    I was left, astray in the wasteland of silence
    As I was a forgotten spirit, I wandered among the ruins of my soul
    The abyss of void yelled my name to reclaim me as its beloved possession
    Because nothing more could have saved me

    If I could have erased all my distressing memories
    I would have lived a bearable existence in peace and calm
    Instead, I was doomed to eternal misery and the spasms of death
    I couldn’t find any key to the door that was keeping me locked in my struggle
    So many thoughts and fears were overcrowding my mind that I couldn’t tell
    I felt overwhelmed and dizzy as I was wandering in an endless maze without guides

    The shadows of affliction were cast over me like ominous ghosts
    I stood immobile since panic had grasped my heart
    The frosty breeze of the night froze my bones
    And every mirror I encountered never reflected my authentic image
    I didn’t remember my name anymore, and my purposes
    Climbing ivy curled like serpents, entwining me in veins of sorrow and silence

    From the instant I died, I was buried beneath layers of anguish as a captive of the underworld
    Chained to cry and despair amid the indifference of stars
    And the moonless night sky offered no comfort
    I had chosen to hide in the darkness and never reveal myself to the light
    With nothing left but a lifeless heart
    I had become one of the shadows of affliction.
    Elisabetta

  • I Belong To The Nightmares

    I Belong To The Nightmares

    I belong to the nightmares and the nightmares belong to me
    As long as my heart still beats I will be a creature of the darkness
    Anguish and distress are the reflections of me in every mirror I encounter
    I have no name but my past is an abyss of obliteration
    I have a dread of existing because I belong to death
    I possess the gift of scorn and indifference because nobody ever loved me
    I’ve always been despised and estranged by every shadow of this world
    I don’t belong to anyone not even to myself
    I belong to darkness and death
    Having lost all those treasures I’ve cherished so dearly
    Now I’m left with nothing but the dust of decay
    My bones and blood and heart belong to the underworld of death
    A realm that despises every miserable being parading their ridiculous triumphs with vain and frivolous pride

    I belong to the nightmares and the dungeons of madness
    I never follow the trail of soulless being of this material world
    I stand alone in my misery and proudly away from everyone
    I don’t need anyone belonging to humankind because I feel only rejection
    I’m a shadow of the night and my heart belongs to whom is not anymore with me
    I sealed my heart with ancient crimson wax made of my blood and tears
    Pride no longer belong to my ethereal sphere, where I decided to enclose myself to avoid the corruption of falsity and hollowness
    The silence that I chose to embrace is deeper than a grave
    In my sanctuary reserved for the broken and cursed spirits
    I despise the sunlight, and I devote my fetish to darkness
    In my veins flow only blood made of sorrows and black ink
    I have become the manifestation of all my screams that nobody ever heard.
    Elisabetta

  • The Spell Of The Magic Night

    The Spell Of The Magic Night

    The spell of the magic night bound me to a deadly respite
    A slumber of shadows too deep to escape
    Under the siege of absolute silence
    Dreams whispered legends of ashes and decay

    I was facing all my fears and my subconscious
    It was like opening an ancient chest that long-time remained closed
    Disclosing memories enveloped in dust and grief
    Each emotion was a fragile relic, and each fearful thought was an erratic rhyme

    The consequence of my own darkness dragged me deeper
    As my shadows manifested like abandoned ghosts
    And I became a captive of the stillness
    As I came to be aware that the price of awakening was far too high

    Immobile I remained on my fancy bed
    Expecting my frenzy to embody the shape of one of my visions
    I longed to become an illusion adrift in the aether
    Like divine smoke rising from sacred incense

    My heart was pounding from the sinister noises above me
    It felt as though I lay beneath demoniac clouds
    Where wicked souls wove silent conspiracies against me
    The void inside of my heart consumed me

    I surrendered to the phantoms of my anguishes
    They were no longer my tormentors but silent companions
    In the vastness of my hollow night, my thoughts dissolved like torn silk
    Each thread was lost to sight into the infinite darkness

    I finally ceased to search for who I was
    Since I became a part of that quietude I once feared
    I hovered through each memory of mine
    I had become a vibration surrounded by the velvet darkness

    All that surrounded me turned into a silent garden
    Where hushed sorrow bloomed with invisible petals
    And dreams fell like shadowed snowflakes
    On the altar of my fading spirit

    I wandered like a ghost trapped in a hall of mirrors
    Indeed, I had become a phantom of my own making
    And I eternally remained trapped in my dreams
    Under the spell of the magic night.
    Elisabetta

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