Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: endless nightmare

  • Bleeding Flowers

    Bleeding Flowers

    Bleeding flowers bloomed in the garden of decay,
    Where the soil was soaked in blood and tears,
    Obscene dreams were made of darkness and despair,
    Surrounded by the scent of indecent nightmares.

    A storm of horror and darkness overwhelmed the garden,
    A blast of fragments of fear tormented the bleeding flowers,
    Under the distress of obsession and madness,
    Leaving crystals to shine bright only in the dreams of delusional romantics.

    Beneath the twisted branches of hollow trees, shadows danced in dread,
    Laments of forgotten souls stirred the stagnant air,
    The stars could not glow anymore, as phantom’s ghostly stares,
    Ropes made of spider webs were woven through the madness, a night beyond decency.

    In this surreal realm where nothing pure remained,
    Lovers’ vows were buried deep in graves of dust and sand,
    The bleeding flowers wilted, bound by cursed chains,
    In a world consumed by rot and broken trust.

    Some delusional hearts still dared to hope,
    Being beauty still ruling in those nightmares, fleeting delusional visions,
    The garden bound them in its deadly scope,
    Its embrace was an eternal, cold, and empty trap.

    Bleeding flowers with crimson petals and leaves,
    Their thorns were long and sharp, ready to hurt those admirers of their beauty,
    With their invisible grimaces, these ethereal blossoms pierced
    Feeding themselves with blood and tears.

    Gone desires were just doomed memories of delightful instants,
    Doom and decay fed the garden of dilapidation,
    A hopeless existence was the life of dead trees and bleeding flowers,
    Not anymore could have been rescued from that eternal doom.

    Not even wraiths, not even phantoms, were able to wander in that terrible garden,
    The garden of beauty and blood where the most dreadful agony ruled supreme,
    And time stroke each second like a spasm of agony.
    An endless nightmare of abhorrent darkness.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Puppet Show

    The Puppet Show

    The puppet show, a stage in a gloaming hall where shadows crept,
    The scene was set for a macabre performance.
    Ropes kept strained by malicious design,
    As monsters revelled in their vile crime.

    Puppets jigged with blank sights,
    Their lifeless limbs were a grim disguise.
    Every jerk and every twist,
    A mockery of a soul dismissed.

    The hidden demons grinned with dark delight,
    Their laughter echoed through the night.
    They crafted their show with wicked art,
    Each thread became a noose around the hearts.

    With every tug, the puppets screamed,
    Trapped in a macabre, endless nightmare.
    Their movements faltered, then relented,
    To cruel hands that never repented.

    The audience of shadows sighed,
    Unmoved by the torment, they spied.
    For in this realm of dread and fear,
    Empathy had disappeared.

    Yet, in the depths where shadows dwelt,
    A whisper stirred a mournful knell.
    For even in their plight so dire,
    The puppets’ souls retained a fire.

    They yearned to break their cursed chain,
    To escape the cruel and twisted pain.
    Though strings were taut and hearts were cold,
    A spark of hope remained untold.

    In the darkest hours, when monsters slept,
    The puppets’ dreams began to creep.
    They plotted and schemed beneath the veil,
    To turn their torment into a haunting tale.

    For in their silence, a rebellion grew,
    A plan to overthrow their foes.
    The final act, a grand reveal,
    Where broken strings began to heal.

    A horror tale to be got by heart,
    In the midst of the night shadows.
    For even in the cruellest show,
    The heart’s defiance had yet grown.

    As dawn broke through the grim façade,
    The puppets rose, no longer flawed.
    Their strings were severed, freedom found,
    Their haunting cries were no longer bound.

    The monsters’ laughter faded to fear,
    As justice claimed its rightful sphere.
    In shadows’ depths, a new dawn gleamed,
    Where once was dread, now hope was redeemed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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