Deadly delights had lingered in the abyss of shadows,
In a mansion where traces of darkness were indelible.
Chandeliers had hung low like tears of despair,
Casting spectral glimmers through the still and stagnant air.
The ballroom, once vibrant with delights and proms,
Hosted relics of mournful romances.
The once bright mosaic floor, alive with jest and joyful embrace,
Now held the cold silence of an abandoned place.
Each mirror, tarnished by the passage of years,
Not anymore reflected joy but only spectral rips.
Ghostly figures had waltzed in the chasms of the night,
Their presence became a blur in the pale and waning light.
Deadly delights hid behind walls adorned with portraits of faded grace,
Had kept sights that stared with a mournful trace.
Their gazes, hollow, had spoken of unrevealed secrets,
Of mysteries that had faded away, turning into a bitter and cold breeze.
In the antique library, where dust had cloaked every ancient tome,
Archaic books had whispered of dark and forbidden spells.
Their brittle pages had held tales of despair,
Of pleasures twisted in the deadly stillness of the ambience.
A grand piano, now covered in dust,
Had once sung the passage of time.
Its keys, now silent, had borne the weight of decay,
Echoing the past where the dead dared to play.
Deadly delights overwhelmed the gloomy garden, where roses had once bloomed red,
The fragrance of death had lingered like a spectral spread.
Petals, now blackened, had lain scattered in the cold,
A witness of delights that had grown decrepit.
The mansion had endured the grip of the darkness,
A realm where delights had succumbed to fright.
In its dim halls, where the past held sway,
The fragments of deadly delights had silently fallen into the void.
Creeping ivy had wound through the darkened halls,
As the past’s grim shadows stirred on the walls.
The giggles of euphoria had turned to frigid cries,
In the mansion where faded elation mourned its dreams.
Deadly delights, a lore to never be disclosed.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
