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
