Tag: death

  • Beguiled by Doubt and Fear

    Beguiled by Doubt and Fear

    Beguiled by doubt and fear, I wandered in the darkness of the night, searching for deception and truth.

    I remembered that the sun had just set down slowly, diving into the ocean depths and dissolving completely.

    Struggling to keep myself alive, trying to not think and not remember, hence not suffering anymore.

    Successfully, I discovered refuge in the oblivion of my senses, no longer understanding what reality and illusion were.

    Sobbing and gasping until I couldn’t breathe anymore, I fell like a dead flower on the cold ground, and there I lay down, remaining senseless like a deadly slumber.

    I awoke in a new realm, but I was not alive anymore because I belonged to the kingdom of death and oblivion.

    I was happily dead for the rest of eternity, an ethereal and metaphysical creature rambling in an endless night.

    I was no longer living, beguiled by doubt and fear. Betrayal and lies were not part of my life anymore, and neither phoney love belonged to my realm.

    I was finally free from vultures and deception. My essence was pure, like a crystal gem shining under the moonlight.

    Alone, I wandered, and I still strolled among shadows and memories, feeling a grudge and the emptiness of the eternal night.

    Silence surrounded me like a haunting ghost, following me everywhere, always lingering. I heard nothing but the echoes of my own obsessions.

    Teardrops descended over my body, cold manifestations of my sorrow and my anguish, silent sighs of my despair and my invisible wounds.

    I embraced death and defeat forever, perceiving their cruel grasp over me; their wicked blade pierced me brutally until it shattered me to pieces.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • 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

  • The Storm of Doom

    The Storm of Doom

    The storm of doom had begun to roar,
    A thunder rolled upon the moor.
    The skies had grown black, the winds unchained,
    As darkness drowned the earth in the rain.

    The lightning had cut a jagged seam,
    A fractured night, a shattered dream.
    It had struck the tower, ancient, grim,
    A tomb for those who dwelled within.

    The windows rattled in their frames,
    The hearth’s flame flickered and then proclaimed,
    Its dying gasp in choking ash,
    While echoes of the lost desires had crashed.

    The walls had wept mould, the ceiling cracked,
    As shadows crawled from ancient tracks.
    Their forms were vague, their voices cried,
    A haunting wail that never died.

    Beneath the storm of doom, despair ruled in all its might,
    Devouring everything in endless nights.
    Its fury had fed on grief and dread,
    And sought the hearts of those misled.

    The ocean had churned in wrath below,
    As wretched waves crashed to and fro.
    The cliffs had eroded, the earth had given way,
    And night consumed the light of day.

    When silence fell and the wind subsided,
    The storm of doom retreated, but death abided.
    Its final sigh had been a chilling hymn,
    For those who had met their fate within.

    In the abyss where shadows and darkness crept,
    Arcane secrets awakened, and the lost souls wept.
    A dance of phantoms, sorrow’s choir,
    Ignited the aura with ghostly fire.

    They whispered tales of what once had been,
    Of lovers lost and ancient scars.
    In every crack, in every sigh,
    The dreams lingered and never died.

    The storm might have faded, but memories clung,
    In haunted hearts, they twisted and sang.
    For as the tempest faded from sight,
    The boundless night consumed every fading light.

    Euphoric and lush senses were only mirages in the imagination of dreamers who fell into oblivion.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • 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 Spell of Death

    The Spell of Death

    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

  • Life Ran Away

    Life Ran Away

    Life ran away like the impetuous stream of a river,
    Beside the dark shadows of the meadows and trees,
    Where the forests grew into a lush of dark green,
    And night descended with secrets unseen.

    The mist curled close in a spectral shroud,
    Wrapping the world in a ghostly crowd.
    The whispers came, soft as a breeze,
    Sighing through leaves, bending the trees.

    In that deep silence, I stood alone,
    Where light seemed lost, and stars were stoned.
    An owl cried out a mournful plea,
    As if it knew the darkness in me.

    I wandered on, where the forest thinned,
    And felt the breath of a rising wind.
    It carried scents of earth and decay,
    A reminder of life that slips away.

    The path grew faint, the night grew bold,
    Its grip around me, icy cold.
    But then a light began to gleam,
    A flicker caught in the edge of a dream.

    It glowed upon a distant hill,
    Where the air grew thick, and death stood still.
    I climbed towards it, heart in thrall,
    But shadows reached and seemed to call.

    Their voices merged, a twisted song,
    Of those who wandered far too long.
    I felt them close, felt their despair,
    And saw their faces in the air.

    Still, the light drew me near,
    Though every step awakened fear.
    At last, I reached the spectral flame,
    But found no solace, found no name.

    For there upon the haunted ground,
    A single grave I found.
    Its stone was cold, its epitaph bare,
    And in its silence, I saw myself there.

    And there I stood, my breath caught tight,
    As moonlight spilt, so thin, so white.
    A distant echo called my name,
    Like ashes drifting from a flame.
    I traced the letters carved in stone,
    And felt a chill that reached my bone,
    Life ran away: a perpetual epitaph.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Cobwebs

    Cobwebs

    Cobwebs thrived insidious in every corner of forgotten halls,
    Where whispers lingered, faint and cold,
    The cobwebs twisted like ancient scrolls,
    An embroidery of tales untold.

    Each thread, a relic of decay,
    Suspended in eternal night,
    A brittle web where shadows played,
    Draped in the moon’s forsaken light.

    Once, the halls had seen great feasts,
    Mirths, songs, and countless guests,
    But now, the echoes only wept,
    For those who’ve long been laid to rest.

    Beneath the veil of dust and slime,
    Laid remnants of another time,
    A fractured mirror on the wall,
    Reflected a world about to fall.

    The spiders weaved their endless art,
    Tracing webs through every part,
    Of chandeliers, once grand, now dim,
    Their crystals cracked, their edges grim.

    Each web they spun was cold and delicate,
    A silver thread of death’s design,
    It snaked along the wooden floors,
    And curls beneath the decaying doors.

    There were no footprints to hear,
    No living soul had ventured near,
    But something swirled within the gloom,
    A presence sensed, yet not in view.

    The atmosphere was overwhelmed with silent dread,
    As if the house itself was dead,
    Yet, breathed a life long since concealed,
    Beneath the webs that now congealed.

    In cobwebs, memories were spun,
    Of days long lost, of deeds undone,
    And as the wind began to moan,
    It echoed the cries of the unknown.

    The windows rattled in the night,
    Their panes were opaque with age and blight,
    The webs quiver, stretch, and sway,
    As if they lived, as if they played.

    What secrets did these tendrils keep,
    In endless folds, in shadows deep?
    What stories hanged in each fine thread,
    Woven by the long-forgotten dead?

    The webs grew thick with dust and time,
    A maze of sorrow, dread, and swine,
    And as the darkness swallowed everything whole,
    It feasted upon the weary souls.

    Since, in the end, what stretched ahead,
    But tangled webs and lives long dead,
    In every corner, every seam,
    The cobwebs spun a timeless dream.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Delusional Expectations

    Delusional Expectations

    Delusional expectations in the midst of the night,
    When the most profound silence enveloped every corner of the realm of reality,
    The solitude ruled the entire realm of arcane and magical dreams.

    Darkness and light were both present in a frolic of magic spells,
    Flowers and trees grew taller every night, relying on desires and deceptions,
    Along the banks of rivers of oblivion.

    Remembrances fell down on cold soil like dead leaves,
    Making the noise of tombstones on forgotten graves,
    Echoes of souls lost in the void,
    Calling from beyond, where time no longer reigned.

    Shadows stretched their domain for every whisper of the wind,
    Dancing beneath a pale, evanescent moon,
    As the night creatures began to sing their silent melody.
    Fate lingered over every sigh and lament,
    As the boundary between dream and death blurred into obliviousness.

    Ephemeral phantoms wandered beneath twisted trees,
    Their hollow gazes fixed upon the distant stars,
    Which no longer offered promises of mirth or hope,
    In fact, they provided only a reflection of their despair.

    The scent of decay drifted through the air,
    A reminder of the countless stories left untold,
    Forgotten by the living and the dead.
    Yet, within this realm, they lingered,
    Bound by the remnants of a magic long since faded.

    In the centre of this spectral realm,
    A lone figure stood amidst the expanding dark,
    Cloaked in glooms, their sights filled with silent yearning.
    They scrutinised the cycle of night’s dominion,
    With no solace in the rising of the dawn.

    The river’s slow current carried away forgotten remembrances,
    Washing them clean of all the pain and sorrow,
    Only to return them once again,
    Draped in the midst of eternity’s frigid embrace.

    Delusional expectations blossomed in this endless twilight, like dreams of deliverance,
    They were no more than other illusions,
    Further delusions wrapped in the silence of the night.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Fragments of Pang

    Fragments of Pang

    Fragments of pang had been what remained after the storm of betrayal and deception,
    Having destroyed every hope and delight in the garden of dreams and desires.
    Beneath the silvered sky, where shadows twisted and writhed,
    The mournful wind sighed through the trees, whispering the names of the dead.

    Tears had fallen from broken statues, their faces frozen in an eternal lament,
    As vines of despair coiled around forgotten graves,
    And the moon had cast its pallid glow upon the crumbling walls of forgotten chapels,
    Where echoes of dismal laments lingered like ghosts in the mist.

    In that desolate place, where time itself had seemed to abandon its course,
    The air was replete with sorrow, heavy with undisclosed secrets.
    The raven had perched high above, its eyes reflecting a darkness deeper than the night,
    Watching with cold indifference as ghouls wandered aimlessly below.

    No solace had been found in that ruinous haven,
    Only the faint murmur of lost hope, swallowed by the abyss of time.
    The candles that once burned bright in the halls of joy had long since flickered out,
    Leaving only the void to claim what was left of a shattered heart.

    Amidst the ruins, a sculpture had stood cloaked in mourning,
    Its face hidden beneath a veil of grief,
    Waiting, always waiting, for the return of what was never meant to last.
    And so the night had stretched on, endless and unforgiving,
    As the world slowly forgot everything, what had remained within those walls were only fragments of pang.

    The ancient doors had creaked, their hinges rusted with centuries of neglect,
    Opening to a hall draped in shadow, where silence reigned supreme.
    Cobwebs had veiled forgotten portraits, faces blurred by time’s cruel hand,
    Their eyes had seemed to follow, scrutinising, though none were left to speak.

    Each stair step seemed to bend through the emptiness, a faint reminder of those who had tread there before,
    Doomed to wander, searching for deliverance in a place forsaken by light.
    The stained glass windows, splintered and dim, had wept colours long faded,
    Casting spectral hues on the cold stone floor like fragments of a shattered past.

    A faint susurration had dwelled in the hollow corridors—
    It did not belong anymore to any living entity but only to broken vows and wrecked promises.
    Words had been lost in the wind, although the pain had still lingered in that eerie domain,
    A haunting refrain of love betrayed, of hearts sundered by the cruel hand of fate.

    There, beneath the weight of centuries, the walls themselves had seemed to whimper,
    As if they remembered every misery that had passed within their embrace.
    The ceiling, a vault of darkness, had offered no stars to guide the lost,
    Only the oppressive heaviness of forgotten dreams trapped in endless night.

    Beyond the hall had lain a forgotten vault where stones and crystals had stood vigil,
    Like haunting faces turned heavenward in silent, mournful invocations.
    But no utopia had answered their plea; the sky above had remained as cold and indifferent
    As the graves, offering neither comfort nor release.

    There, the cold soil itself had seemed to breathe with ancient dread,
    A slow, shuddering sigh beneath the feet of those who had dared to tread.
    Gravestones had tilted and cracked, their inscriptions worn smooth by the passage of time,
    And, all those mortal names had been forgotten; their suffering had remained etched in the wind.

    Fragments of pang had wandered, lost among the tombstones and ruins,
    As solitary wraiths in a world of decay, bound to the pain of what once was.
    Since in that place, time had held no meaning, no mercy, only the endless march of despair,
    As the night had stretched on, unyielding, beneath the weight of a cruel and cynical fate.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Endless Grief

    The Endless Grief

    The endless grief, born in the deepest shadows,
    Where sorrow grew, and demons crept.
    A silence dazed the eerie aura,
    A weight too much for hearts to bear.

    The rain fell cold, the sky was bleak,
    The soul became frail and the mind weak.
    A distant toll of bells transformed into a choir of cries,
    A dirge for those who dared to wander too far away.

    The endless road of mourning winds,
    Through shattered hopes and twisted desires.
    No company was found, nor voices to be heard,
    Just endless grief that claimed every living creature.

    The endless grief, a cursed refrain,
    A perpetual march through infinite pain.
    The night devoured the light of day,
    And dragged the hearts to slow decay.

    A castle cold, where shadows reigned,
    Sighs echoed in darkened walls.
    A labyrinth with thorns and tendrils of dread,
    Each path was a step closer to the death.

    The stars looked down with a hollow stare,
    Like frozen orbs that did not care.
    Their pale light painted the soil in frost,
    As every entity was bound and lost.

    The endless grief betrayed like a lover’s kiss,
    A poisoned embrace that none could ever be missed.
    It held hearts, it gripped souls,
    It swallowed whole all that was taken under control.

    In twisted woods where no life could have prospered,
    The path led where the cold wind blew.
    The trees, they moaned, their branches writhed,
    Beneath the sky where stars didn’t thrive.

    The river flew with quiet dread,
    A blackened stream for the living dead.
    Its waters whispered as they ran,
    A mournful hymn for what had begun.

    The endless grief, a heavy shroud,
    A curse that lingered like a minacious cloud.
    No dawn would have broken, no sun would have risen,
    No delight could have been born beneath these unlimited skies.

    The realm itself became a monument of stone,
    A place where nothing could make sense.
    The ground would have swallowed every shadow,
    And still, the grief remained the same.

    The endless grief never ended and never will,
    Through disfigured dreams, it wends and bends.
    It buries deep, it scars souls,
    A fate that no one can control at all.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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