Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: decay

  • Poisonous Embrace

    Poisonous Embrace

    Poisonous embrace in a garden’s darkened glade,
    Where shadows twisted and wove,
    While a serpent’s hiss slithered like a whispered kiss beneath the autumn’s rove.

    Among the blooms, so mysterious and colourful, a secret lay concealed,
    Like a venom so pure, in innocent petals’ core, whose true intent was never to be revealed.

    Flowers of darkness, with their colours vibrant and sweet scents, lured the trustful hearts,
    Although their veins were sources of a toxic strain of deadly spite and lust.
    The touch was so delicate, the caress like sunshine.

    Nevertheless, threat lay within,
    A fatal bite, a brisk delight, a kiss of death’s cruel grin.
    A fatal lingering in the garden’s heart, behind the ornate gate.

    Wanderers of wild greens sought the garden’s charm, enchanted by beauty’s glow,
    Oblivious, they strolled through the path where the poison’s roots did prosper.
    They plucked the flowers whose scent made them unconscious of their fate.

    The sun would die, the moon would arise, and clouds would become more bold,
    In the wicked night’s grasp, the garden’s face shifted from amiable to insensitive,
    For those ghouls who lingered spasmodically under the spell of the venom, the night offered no respite from their torment.

    The poisonous embrace turned into a love that vanished into bitter ashes like a burnt dream in the darkest despair.
    Through concealed secrets, enigmas of sorrow reached every futile heart that met death.
    Legends of defeated lovers and trust betrayed were like a poison descending from the sky.

    Magnificent flowers, once so full of life, were now symbols of deceit and destruction,
    Their decay was a reminder of the hidden collapse beneath their beauty.
    Years departed, the garden’s tale, just a legend to be remembered.

    Delusions masked in vanity’s guise turned hearts into hard and cold stones.
    The blooms still flourished, the fragrances sweet, yet none ever dared tread that soil,
    For each leaf contained a toxic grief, a lethal truth.

    The fantastic tale of blossoms’ fair allure,
    Unveiled a bloom where toxic doom endured—
    A fate that’s dark, impure.
    In every leaf, a tale of grief, a story of despair,
    A poisonous embrace awaited those who wandered there.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Shadowed Passage

    The Shadowed Passage

    The shadowed passage rested at the heart of a forgotten manor,
    Past the majestic hall and beneath the stairs,
    Where time had left its mark in cold and dark layers,
    Thick with decay and secrets, it bore.

    A single candle’s dim light flickered,
    Casting grotesque shapes upon the ornate walls,
    Forms that moved and twisted eerily,
    With a life of their own in the shadows’ thrall.

    As one ventured deeper, chills gripped the bones,
    The oppressive silence was broken by a drip,
    The uneven floor, worn smooth by countless feet,
    Whispers rose like cold breath to nip.

    In the heart of the passage loomed a door,
    Marred by scratches from desperate attempts to flee,
    Pushing it open revealed a small, dark room,
    Dusty shelves and a chair facing the dark sea.

    From the depths of shadows, a figure emerged,
    More an absence of light than a form,
    Gliding silently with eerie grace,
    Its face was shown briefly with sorrow forlorn.

    Suddenly, the door slammed shut,
    The candle’s light extinguished in the obscurity,
    The whispers crescendoed into a cacophony,
    The figure reached out, and then it all went slack.

    The noise ceased as quickly as it had begun,
    The room remained empty save for a faint, eerie trace,
    The passage, once silent and foreboding,
    Now hummed with echoes of a haunting embrace.

    A chill swept through the manor’s very bones,
    As if the walls themselves were breathing deep,
    Ancient echoes as remembrances of forgotten moans,
    In the shadows where the restless spirits slept.

    The ceiling’s beams, aged and cracked, groaned faintly,
    Their weight seemed almost unbearable,
    Casting elongated, spectral and unsettling shades,
    A spectacle of the eerily intangible.

    In the far corner, a mirror stood covered in dust and fear,
    Reflecting only darkness and fading light,
    Its glass was a gateway to another time,
    Where memories twisted in the heart of each night.

    Steps lingered in the silence, slow and measured,
    Each echo was a relic of the passage’s curse,
    A place where past and present were forever tethered,
    A labyrinth of sighs, haunted and immersed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Forgotten Theatre

    The Forgotten Theatre

    The forgotten theatre was hidden in the heart of the old city,
    Nestled between towering buildings,
    Once a grand beacon, now forsaken,
    Crumbled and cloaked in ivy’s embrace.

    Once grand, now dust and vine,
    Ornate facade hidden away,
    Marquee unlit, letters faded,
    Abandoned, haunting in dismay.

    Legends whispered of a night,
    A performance at the height of its fervour, tragic,
    Flames consumed with terrifying speed,
    Trapped souls in a fiery magic.

    Spirits bound to the stage,
    Their untimely demise,
    Haunting the theatre still,
    In ghostly, sorrowful cries.

    Interior, a labyrinth of decay,
    Air thick with dust and mildew,
    Floorboards creaked ominously,
    A grand chandelier in a webbed hue.

    Red velvet seats faded and torn,
    Once plush, now mould and rot,
    An opulent auditorium,
    In neglect, long forgotten.

    The charred stage, a sombre reminder,
    The backdrop faded and torn,
    Orchestra pit, a dark void,
    Instruments broken, forlorn.

    At night, the theatre came to life,
    Faint music filled the halls,
    Shadows of performers flitted,
    Ghostly symphony echoed calls.

    Empty seats held ghostly spectators,
    Faces pale, gaunt in despair,
    Disembodied voices and laughter,
    A crowd was no longer there.

    A woman in a tattered costume,
    Face streaked with soot and tears,
    Wandered halls in deep sorrow,
    Searching through the years.

    Backstage, narrow corridors,
    Dressing rooms were silent and cold,
    Mirrors cracked and tarnished,
    Reflections of stories untold.

    Costumes hung in tatters,
    Colours faded with age,
    The lingering scent of smoke,
    Haunting every stage.

    At dawn, the ghostly faded,
    The theatre fell silent anew,
    Chandelier, charred stage, empty seats,
    Witnesses to tragedy’s rue.

    Spirits bound to the theatre,
    In restless slumber, they lay,
    Waiting for the night to awaken,
    To haunt, to dance, to play.

    A testament to sorrow’s power,
    The forgotten theatre stands,
    Spirits perform in ghostly hours,
    A nighttime can’t erase demands.

    The city moved on, bustling streets,
    In contrast to the eerie presence,
    Past and present intertwined,
    In shadows, whispers, and essence.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Delights And Dread

    Delights And Dread

    Delights and dread in a garden where roses once bloomed black as the night,
    Lay a tale of bliss that ended in fright.
    An exquisite feast had been set with the finest of fare,
    But those who partook had to tread with utmost care.

    The wraith, with eyes like the chill of the void,
    Had greeted the wanderers with a presence devoid.
    It offered them visions from an ancient mystic chalice,
    Each glance a whisper, a fragment of malice.

    The banquet had been a marvel, a sensory delight,
    And shadows danced eerily in the flickering light.
    The air was perfumed with the scent of flowers and decay,
    A subtle hint of doom that was not far away.

    Each dish had been a wonder, a culinary art,
    Yet poison lay hidden in each sumptuous part.
    The guests were enraptured by flavours so rare,
    Unaware of the lurking danger hidden there.

    The melody grew haunting, a mournful refrain,
    As one by one, the guests felt creeping pain.
    Their visions grew darker, their breaths grew thin,
    The poison revealed the death hiding within.

    The ghost observed with a gaze cold and grim,
    As guests fell silent, their faces grew dim.
    For this had been its realm, a domain of delight and dread,
    Where the line between life and death was faintly marked.

    The roses drank deeply from the blood-soaked earth,
    Their petals darkened, marking a sinister rebirth.
    In that garden of delights and foreboding strife,
    The veil between beauty and death was razor-thin.

    Asymptotic allure of a banquet so grand,
    In a garden where delights and dread walked side by side.
    For the pleasures once experienced in the moon’s eerie light,
    They may have led to a slumber that lasted beyond any night.

    The fragments of shadows, the sighs of dread,
    Lingered in the garden where life once trod.
    A tale of dark enchantment, a feast full of fear,
    Where the line between life and death was starkly sheer.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • An Enigma

    An Enigma

    An enigma hid in the mansion of forgotten dreams,
    Where shadows whispered silent screams,
    Shrouding the enigma, cloaked in night,
    A tale obscured from mortal sight.

    Mirrors and ghosts haunted the halls,
    Reflecting secrets through eerie walls,
    Glimmers of the past in moonlit haze,
    Lost in time’s labyrinthine maze.

    Candles flickered, wan and pale,
    Telling secrets of the frail,
    Of love that perished, dreams that bled,
    In rooms where silence masked the dead.

    Mirrors cracked by sorrow’s hand,
    Reflected a world so dark, so grand,
    Where whispered words and solemn cries blended with the wind’s mournful sighs,
    Lost relics of a time long banned.

    Portraits stared with hollow eyes,
    Guardians of forgotten lies,
    Their painted smiles hid the tears,
    Of long-lost souls and vanished years.

    Cobwebs draped the chandelier,
    Rustling with each breath of fear,
    As footsteps echoed on the floor,
    A haunting rhythm, evermore.

    The garden, wild with thorns and greed,
    A relic of time’s cruel speed,
    Where once bloomed roses, red and fair,
    Now stands a graveyard of despair.

    The clock tower, rusted, struck no chime,
    A sentinel to decaying time,
    Its hands froze in endless plight,
    Marking the hour of infinite night.

    In the library, dust-covered tomes,
    Spoke of lives and silent glooms,
    Of poets lost in melancholy,
    Their words were a dance of solemn folly.

    By the hearth, now cold and dead,
    Lay ashes of words that once were said,
    Their warmth, a memory, now faded,
    In silence, their essence was jaded.

    The ballroom, grand, now stood forlorn,
    Echoing with a silent horn,
    Where once the waltz of life granted delight,
    Now shadows danced in the muted light.

    An ancient portrait framed in gold,
    Of shadows, beautiful and bold,
    Their eyes, an enigma, deep and wide,
    Held secrets of the dark inside.

    Whispers floated through the air,
    Of love betrayed, of deep despair,
    A haunting tale of sorrow’s kiss,
    An enigma wrapped in the mist.

    The attic held a secret chest,
    With treasures lost and stories left in bequest,
    A diary of a broken heart,
    Torn apart, a tragic art.

    Beneath the mansion’s grand façade,
    A magic vault where shadows guarded,
    A legacy of pain and woe,
    Where tears and whispers dwindled low.

    The enigma, wrapped in sorrow’s veil,
    A ghostly ship in endless sail,
    Its secrets whispered through the gloom,
    In the mansion, an eternal garden of thorns that never ceased to bloom.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Enchanted Ruins

    The Enchanted Ruins

    The enchanted ruins were lost to time’s embrace,
    Where ivy clung to stone’s cold face,
    The echoes of a past forlorn,
    Resided within the ancient morn.

    The moonlight wove through the broken spire,
    Casting shadows that inspired,
    A mournful dance of spectres old,
    In ruins where their stories fold.

    The crumbling arches, silent wept,
    In sorrow’s breath, the night had slept,
    A whisper through the shattered hall,
    Of secrets lost and shadows tall.

    The ivy wrapped around the past,
    A painting of time steadfast,
    Its tendrils clutched at memories,
    Of joys dissolved in whispered pleas.

    Through labyrinths where echoes played,
    And remnants of the past decayed,
    The silence spoke of love and loss,
    And dreams once magnificent have turned to moss.

    The enchanted ruins were not anymore a majestic mansion,
    They lay beneath the moon’s soft code,
    Each stone was a witness to the years,
    A monument to vanished tears.

    Their splendour, now a fleeting glance,
    In the realm of twilight’s trance,
    Recounted tales of lives once bright,
    Now fading into an endless night.

    The ivy’s grip, a gentle thief,
    Enshrouded the past in quiet grief,
    Its leaves whispered of days gone by,
    Beneath the ever-weeping sky.

    In this desolate domain,
    A certain beauty did remain,
    For through the sorrow, light could trace,
    The haunting grace of time’s embrace was felt.

    Wandering shadows were silent remnants of forgotten tales,
    The moon’s dim light unveiled sorrow’s concealed details,
    In this forsaken place where time ceaselessly failed,
    Ghosts of the past lingered in haunted trails.

    These enchanted ruins held a timeless lore,
    Of what was cherished, lost, and more,
    A spectral dance beneath the moon,
    A memory’s melancholic tune.

    Amidst the echoes, faded sighs,
    The enchanted ruins whispered goodbyes,
    Of vanished joys, solemn grace,
    In the quiet of this haunted place.

    In moonlit silence, shadows entwined with forsaken longings,
    An ethereal realm where dreams once grieved,
    Through time’s embrace and the past refrained,
    A mournful song of bliss and anguish.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Melancholy Manor

    The Melancholy Manor

    The melancholy manor, grand yet worn,
    Hosted a ghost of sorrow born,
    Its halls were cold, its rooms were bare,
    With echoes of despair.

    The chandelier, it swayed with ease,
    In the drafts of phantom breezes,
    Its crystals caught the moon’s cold light,
    Casting shadows in the night.

    Portraits hung on walls of dust,
    Faces faded, lost to rust,
    Their gazes, they followed every move,
    In this mansion, none could have soothed.

    A piano in the corner stood alone,
    Its keys were untouched by mortal hands,
    It played a tune of deep lament,
    A melody of sorrow spent.

    In the library, books decayed,
    Their pages brown, their words away,
    Each ancient tome was a tale of love and loss,
    Of souls that paid the highest cost.

    The garden, wild with creeping vines,
    Its beauty was lost to dark edges,
    A fountain dry, its waters gone,
    A symbol of what’s passed and done.

    The mirrors cracked, reflecting the past,
    Of memories that could not have lasted,
    A phantom’s face, a spectral tear,
    They waited for someone who was not near.

    The staircase creaked with every step,
    A sound that made the silence weep,
    Its bannister, a cold embrace,
    Of hands that longed for warmest grace.

    The clock ticked in mournful chime,
    A metronome of endless time,
    In every corner, shadows played,
    In the manor, where ghosts stayed.

    Whoever found themselves trapped inside,
    This house of sorrow, thick and evanescent,
    Remembered those who lived before,
    And left their grief within its doors.

    The melancholy manor was silent and forsaken,
    On the inside, lingering threads of lost despair,
    The manor held its secrets tight,
    Within the grip of endless nights.

    Cobwebs draped like silken shrouds,
    Ensnaring dreams beneath their clouds,
    Time was immutable in haunted gloom,
    Where sorrow was the only bloom.

    Outside, the wind began to howl,
    Echoing the manor’s mournful growl,
    The world moved on, but there it stayed,
    A relic of the lives betrayed.

    No respite from the phantom’s call,
    Bound to the melancholy hall,
    The manor wept with ghostly grace,
    A timeless, haunted, solemn place.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Darkness And Decay

    Darkness And Decay

    In the chasms of night, where shadows writhe and obscure the realm of dreams
    Darkness reigns supreme, entwined with the essence of decay
    It is within this shroud of obsidian gloom that the universe is overwhelmed by an eerie embrace
    Where time’s touch wanes and all once resonant fade into the abyss
    Amidst this realm of dusk, decay whispers its tales in every crevice and corner as a silent harbinger of life’s ephemeral essence
    It lurks in the forgotten remote mysteries, where ancient memories collide with the present
    Each passing moment engraves its mark upon the crumbling towers of existence
    The cadence of decay resonates through the dusk
    A haunting tune echoes in the hollows of time
    Shadows prom upon the remnants of what once thrived
    Casting an unsettling sway of demise and dissolution
    Each glimmer of darkness clasps a tale of its own
    Veiling secrets lost to the relentless march of passing days
    In the heart of darkness, every decay becomes a creation
    A portrait of existences with somber shades and melancholic tones
    It weaves intricate tangles of hesitations, where the once flourished desires now succumb to the inevitable promenade of moments
    Embracing the snare of glooms and the relentless journey toward the unknown
    Amidst the tendrils of decay and shadows, within this twilight realm lies an inexplicable magnificence
    Disclosure of the transitoriness as an interplay of darkness and decay
    A wistful reminder of ephemeral splendors and unreachable idylls
    Fleeting instants before they fade into the obscurity of the eternal night
    To nevermore re-emerge once swallowed into the infinite nothingness
    Immensity becomes an imperceptible particle of stardust
    Every futile intemperance of impalpable dreams slumbers within the enigmatic precipice of the void
    Amid the indiscernible whispers of forgotten longings and nebulous desires, the intangible threads of spectral fantasies lose their grip
    And the boundaries of reality blur into a mosaic of undefined chances
    Like transient voyagers adrift in the boundless sea of the subconscious
    The dreams oscillate between semblance and nothingness, lingering on the frail brink of manifestation
    Mirrors of remembrances reflect the tantalizing and elusive labyrinths of the unconsciousness
    An eerie allure explores the tangled abysm of the unknown
    Phantasmagorical fragments dissolve into the arcane emptiness, leaving behind wisps of evanescent longing.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Agony Of Uncertainty

    The Agony Of Uncertainty

    The agony of uncertainty is my dwelling
    It was all I had written on a mirror
    A long sequence of characters
    Which I used to write
    And nothing further
    Forever and never
    I have been lost
    Striving to remember my name and my story
    Since I was born with a great devotion to art
    Such joy should be life
    Once everything has been forgotten with time

    The agony of uncertainty is a tree in the sea
    Where it is possible to be merry
    A moment has come to bear a perceived memory
    Like dreams repeatedly created and destroyed
    Each season and new year
    The time is past and never hides
    Torments are shortened by days and nights
    To avoid suffering and distress
    I might become pleased as I would pretend
    My past life never existed
    Becoming something imaginary

    The agony of uncertainty is a dark forest
    Where the wounds never disappear
    Only memories can unfold
    Looking onward and writing my dreams
    And all those unconcealed secrets
    That the soul keeps as the deepest memories
    The nightmares of the heart are lost in the dark
    The fate of dark stars is entwined in indifference
    The gloom of endless thoughts of sorrow
    Lost forever in a silent emptiness
    Which never dies

    The agony of uncertainty and pain
    Thereupon I move forward through the long desert of death
    Reaching more intention and joy
    My thoughts are made of fears
    Bleeding each time, I became wiser
    No hope was found in the devotion of love
    Instants of lust in the deepest silence
    Fretting about the decay of every bliss
    Dread should last forever in death
    When everything is lost
    The truth is the door of a new consciousness

    The agony of uncertainty and delight
    Always shining in an infinite reality
    My heart is truly sacred
    Beyond deception and mendacity
    Seeking the truth as an insight
    When no choice is granted
    The tears, like fright, lit the earth
    The grief within my soul is still alive
    I should not always be afraid
    Gifted with patience to keep
    My soul is bound to be naive.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Screech Of Indifference

    The Screech Of Indifference

    The Screech Of Indifference

    The screech of indifference
    The invisible shape of disillusions
    When the caducity of time and entities
    Fall into a throb of hope
    Whilst incorporeal feelings
    Are bent by gusts of distress.

    A deprivation of emotions alters
    Transforming into a blaze of greed and obsession
    The death of illusions breaks the artifice of existence
    Similar to a dream melting into a vortex of torments.

    Decay and ineptitude overcome
    Once the tremor of mediocrity
    Obliterate every sparkle of sublimity
    And silent wretchedness tarnishes every edge
    In the infinite ocean of longings.

    The screech of indifference
    In a state of desertion of the souls
    Longings of burning deceptions
    A surreal and imaginary mystery
    Surrounded by hideous monstrosities.

    Limping shards of a lost whisper
    Disguise in the shadow of an instant
    A gathering of wonders and desires seizes endless anguishes
    When reminiscences dissolve in the ethereal.

    The intangible world of the ideas
    Collapses in the dreary chasm of the metaphysical
    The hesitation of a glimpse of a dream
    Disappears in a hidden spoil of eternal emptiness.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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