Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: forgotten lore

  • The Magic Spell

    The Magic Spell

    The magic spell enchanted the night
    That was heavy with forgotten lore,
    A spell cast deep from ages before.
    In the heart of a forest, shrouded by despair.

    Whispered incantations filled the midnight air,
    The grimoire lay open, brittle and bare.
    Candles flickered, casting shadows tall,
    As darkness answered to every call.

    With each word spoken, the wind did rise,
    Howling like demons from the void of the skies.
    The ground beneath trembled, cold and weak,
    As if the earth itself had forgotten to speak.

    A place that sought to summon the dead,
    To awaken spirits long silent, long fled.
    Through twisted trees, their faces did gleam,
    Eyes hollow and lost, trapped in their dream.

    The moon above was swallowed by clouds,
    And the night descended in haunted shrouds.
    Chants grew louder, desperate and wild,
    For the dark arts, the chosen child.

    The magic spell, dense in the aura, suffocating all,
    A portal to the depths of some enchanted hall.
    The spell worked its magic, cruel and vast,
    Binding forever to shadows of the past.

    Voices murmured from the stones nearby,
    An echo of a curse that refused to die.
    Through the mist they came, spirits long cursed,
    Their hollow chuckle made the soul feel worse.

    In horror, the spell took form,
    A creature born of night, death, and storm.
    It towered above, a phantom of dread,
    Its eyes glowed crimson, its body of lead.

    In a voice like thunder, it called a name,
    “You summoned me forth; now you’re to blame.”
    Mercy begged for, a will turned to dust,
    But in the dark arts, mercy is rust.

    The magic spell consumed all, a soul a mere husk,
    Trapped in a world forever of dusk.
    The spell woven became a cage,
    An endless nightmare, an eternal stage.

    Now, wandering these woods, lost in a trance,
    Caught between realms, a prisoner of chance.
    The spell never lifted, its grip iron-tight,
    The magic spell, eternal, devoid of light.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Realm Of Darkness

    The Realm Of Darkness

    The realm of darkness reigned over the valley of shadows,
    Whispers echoed of secrets long kept,
    Wandering through that eerie land,
    Where ghosts clung tight to cold and dead sand castles.

    The moon hung pale and meagre in the haunted sky,
    Casting a sallow glow where the ghouls lay.
    Hollow stares oversaw with silent dread,
    In a dwelling where the living had fled.

    A mansion loomed with windows cracked,
    Its halls lay silent and obscured by memories.
    Cobwebs shrouded each corner tight,
    As time became still in the endless nights.

    A frosty wind lingered among forsaken relics,
    An ancient place that harboured only quiet death.
    The walls hummed with tales of sorrow and woe,
    Of existences lost centuries ago.

    Doors creaked open with eerie sobs,
    Leading further where the darkness had grown.
    An ambience of doom and fear arose, but there was no escape,
    A suffocating silence filled the air.

    Through endless halls, shadows deceived,
    Each niche hid despair’s cruel snare,
    In a place where night clung to the air.

    A mirror waited in a forgotten room,
    Reflecting faces twisted in doom.
    One spectre stared back with eyes so grim,
    Trapped in the void, lost and dim.

    Once whole, now merely a part
    Of the darkness that tore apart.
    In the realm of darkness, forever to dwell,
    Dreamers were ensnared in the night’s cruel spell.

    Underneath the floors, shadows crawled,
    Restless dreams could not befall.
    Ancient fears were left behind,
    In the void where echoes bind.

    The wind howled through barren trees,
    Carrying with it ghostly pleas
    Of those who entered and never returned,
    Their stories of terror were forever unrevealed.

    An ancient clock ticked loudly in the gloom,
    Marking time in that eternal vault.
    Its pendulum swung like a centuries-old curse,
    Shrouding this realm in a veil of forgotten lore.

    Lights faded as shadows reigned,
    Trapped in a world of endless despair.
    No dawn broke that eternal night,
    Only sorrow beneath the gelid moon’s dim light.

    The realm of darkness lingered, forever lost,
    Where shadows wove tales of eternal night.
    In silence, memories were left to drift,
    Their essence was bound in the grasp of the void—
    An endless existence in a haunted dream.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Castle By The Ocean

    The Castle By The Ocean

    The castle by the ocean stood on a cliff ruled by shadows at night,
    An ancient, towering fortress, fierce and fantastic, haunted and forlorn.
    It rose from the rock, a sentinel of stone and memory,
    Bearing witness to countless storms, its walls were stroked by time and tide.

    Waves mild and intense disclosed secrets long heretofore,
    Stories of love and death, of struggles fought and lives surrendered.
    In the moon’s pale, ghostly glares, spectres roamed the halls at dusk,
    Their steps echoed through the aisles, a mournful melody.

    Turrets pierced through the mist, emerged scornful against the sky,
    Their silhouettes were a stark contrast to the swirling fog below.
    Windows, once alive with lamps, now gazed upon the sea,
    Stares of sorrow, dark and unbound, reflected the endless expanse.

    The castle’s gates, long rusted shut, held tales of ancient treasures,
    Of kings and queens, of fearless knights, their legends carved in gravel.
    The castle by the ocean with walls carved by time and storms kept secret stories from days sunk in oblivion,
    Each pebble bore the weight of a history’s silent song.

    Mirrors of the past stuck around inside every tormented chamber,
    In each stone, a hidden misery and a remembrance were entombed.
    The ballroom, now empty, once rang with giggle and mirth,
    Feasts and proms, melodies raised, celebrating life and inception.

    The castle by the ocean sobbed, a lament to the sky,
    Where restless spirits never perished, bound to this earthly realm.
    They wandered through the twilight, shades of what once was,
    Guardians of forgotten lore lost in time’s relentless haze.

    The library, with dusty tomes, held knowledge long since known,
    Books of wisdom, spells, and dreams, their pages now unattended.
    Cobwebs draped the chandeliers, their crystals dull and silver,
    Once sparkling at the candlelight, now dimmed by centuries’ decay.

    The courtyard, overgrown with wild shrubs, where flowers used to bloom,
    Now lay as silent witness to nature’s quiet doom.
    However, the castle by the ocean stood firm, defiant against time,
    A relic of a bygone era, preserved in sorrow’s tears.

    The castle by the ocean became a monument to the past,
    An ancient, towering fortress, severe and feral, tormented and desolate.
    Its heritage, etched in stone and sea, whispered on the wind,
    A tale of unyielding resolve, where ghouls endlessly persisted.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Veil Of An Old Mill

    The Veil Of An Old Mill

    The veil of an old mill creaked with age-old strain,
    Its wheels no longer turned in light,
    Silent then, the gears refrained,
    From whirring through the endless night.

    The river’s edge was overgrown,
    With tangled weeds and mossy grey,
    And in the stillness, whispers droned,
    Of lives long lost and slipped away.

    The shadows in the windows loomed,
    Their outlines blurred in spectral hue,
    A faded light, a musty gloom,
    Where time had etched its darkened view.

    The mill’s dark loft, a hidden place,
    Where time and dust had left their mark,
    Held secrets veiled in darkened space,
    And echoes from a past gone dark.

    Beneath the beams, the dust lay thick,
    With traces of forgotten lore,
    A murmur there, a shiver quick,
    Of tales that haunted the old mill’s floor.

    The wheelhouse was then empty, bare,
    Yet something stirred within the deep,
    A restless breath hung in the air,
    Where ancient sorrows lay asleep.

    In a moonlit haze, the spirits danced,
    Around the mill’s forsaken heart,
    Their steps a spectral, mournful trance,
    That shadows in the night imparted.

    And though the mill was still and cold,
    Its heart still beated with ghostly grace,
    The veil of time was dark and old,
    Yet whispers haunted its hollow space.

    The creaking timbers groaned and moaned,
    As if they held a mournful tale,
    With each gust of wind, a spectral groan,
    Each creak, a whisper of the pale.

    The empty gears and rusted chains,
    Now silent in their ancient sorrow,
    Spoke of labour lost in vain,
    And ghosts that lingered through the morrow.

    The old mill’s walls were etched with dirt,
    A canvas of the ages past,
    Each crack and stain, a mark of time,
    Where shadows of the lost were cast.

    The echoes of the past remained,
    In every corner, every seam,
    A place where sorrow’s ghosts sustained,
    And shadows wove their haunting dream.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah