Tag: ethereal garden

  • A Phantasmagoria of Mystery

    A Phantasmagoria of Mystery

    A phantasmagoria of mystery pervaded the realm of dreams,
    Where delights cast their magic spells,
    Glowing like stars in the infinite darkness,
    The darkness of rationality and consciousness,
    Whose heavy shadows draped over the imagination that dared wander.

    Like warm raindrops falling upon open flower blooms,
    Passions moistened every blossom of roses with their dew of lust,
    Each petal glistening, saturated with feverish desire,
    And in the silent sonata, the blossoms swayed,
    Unfurling to a breeze that whispered forbidden rhymes.

    Oblivion and derealisation welcomed every utopia in this exquisite alcove,
    An alcove of lush gardens veiled in mist,
    Where roses revealed secrets to the midnight sky,
    And the aura, decadent with intoxicating scents,
    Lured dreamers further into hallucinations that could not be resisted.

    In this realm of opulence, reality blurred, dissolving at the edge of darkness,
    Where dawn dared not disturb the exquisite slumber,
    And beneath the star-laden canopy, sweet illusions swirled wildly,
    Weaving dreams with threads of silk and shadows,
    A dance of light and dark, of ecstasy and fervour, entangled forever.

    In the gardens of legends, where phantoms ruled,
    Each shadow became a wraith of lost desires, drifting, unchained,
    Every sigh was heavy with the scent of roses,
    And every heartbeat transformed into an echo, fading into the invisible,
    An imaginary domain where time dissolved, leaving only the eternal dusk.

    A phantasmagoria of mystery happened to be in this enchanted universe,
    Where illusions and falsehoods became reality.
    A bizarre and fantastic scenario where remembrances did not exist anymore,
    And dreams were the irrefutable truth.

    Within this unearthly garden of forbidden reveries,
    Ethereal spectres wove silent trails through the air, invisible.
    Guiding the dreamers and visionaries toward metaphysical revelations,
    Past the boundaries of the known and intelligible.

    The roses, drenched in twilight’s honeyed essence,
    Released their secrets in whispers soft and low,
    As if mourning for a life they’d never lived,
    And petals drifted down like fallen hopes,
    Into pools of ink, where starlight’s glow had ceased.

    Beneath a moon veiled in shadows’ dark embrace,
    Figures waltzed in silence, spectres of delight,
    Invisible, though stirring in every pulse, every heartbeat,
    Moving in time to a song unheard, unfathomable,
    A hymn to worlds that only slumber can comprehend.

    In this phantasmagoric realm, within the depths of the midnight veil,
    Where dawn was but a distant tale, lost,
    The dreamers sank deeper, surrendering entirely,
    To realms beyond the reach of morning’s light,
    Forever wandering in the labyrinth of dusk.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Flowers of Lust

    Flowers of Lust

    Flowers of lust bloomed with passion and love,
    In a lush garden teeming with beauty and sublimity.
    Not even the rain dared touch this magical, magnificent realm,
    Where all dreams always come true.

    Anguish began to poison that ethereal world,
    Each raindrop became a drop of venom and grief,
    Killing all the flowers of lust and leaving the garden a deserted place,
    Where shadows and darkness started to rule.

    Hope faded like the sun’s dying glow,
    As gloominess swallowed the once-enchanted realm.
    The wind carried tales of forgotten euphoria,
    Now replaced by the wails of misery’s presence.

    A veil of sorrow draped over every path,
    Once adorned with roses, now thorns remained.
    The sky, once azure, turned to ominous dark grey,
    And silence grew louder than the softest pain.

    The lovers who feasted in the garden’s embrace,
    Became mere phantoms, vestiges of the remote past.
    Their merriment twisted into haunting laments,
    As the night’s cold grasp on their souls was cast.

    This forsaken place transformed into a castle of rumbles,
    Each remembrance was a reminder of love’s decay.
    No gentle breeze, no floral perfume in the air,
    Only the scent of death would not sway.

    The garden became a grave for passion’s bloom,
    Lay barren, broken, a cradle for despair.
    No longer a haven for hearts to unite,
    But a tomb where love withered, unaware.

    Wilted petals and shattered dreams are all that remain,
    Fragments of a life now lost in vain.
    Each star above seemed to mock the plight,
    Of a paradise torn apart at the seams.

    Amidst the ruins and obliteration,
    The eternal darkness still cast its poisonous spell,
    And gloaming clouds devoured every hopeful bloom.
    No life could flourish in this place of despair,
    A garden trapped in its endless, tragic plight.

    The flowers of lust forever lost their allure,
    As night swallowed day and banished the light.
    In this realm of sorrow, nothing survived,
    Not love, nor joy, nor the faintest gleam,
    But only the fragments of shattered dreams.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

Skip to content