Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: ghosts

  • The Abyss Of Desolation And Affliction

    The Abyss Of Desolation And Affliction

    The abyss of desolation and affliction appeared to me in a dream.
    I could not tell if it was a hallucination
    or some malevolent spirit that had caught me
    in the torpor of my nightly slumber.

    Spectres appeared to me, agile and winged,
    Their claws etched marks upon my skin,
    As if to inscribe arcane messages
    Beyond my mortal grasp to decode.
    The moon shone bright and awe-inspiring above,
    An eternal night enveloped all,
    Where swirling clouds danced,
    A solemn escort to those shadowy phantoms.

    Figures cloaked in hidden mantles and hoods,
    As if unwilling to reveal their names,
    Lay inert along a river—
    At times, it was a still pond, and at times, it was a shimmering lagoon.

    I felt a weight of oppression and annihilation,
    As if all my feelings and desires
    Had been obliterated in the presence
    Of such a bleak and haunting landscape.

    I could not feel joy or enthusiasm
    At the very moment I realised
    That the slightest hope might be mistaken for illusion,
    Denying me the grace to surrender
    To my senses, to my subconscious.

    I walked with uncertain steps,
    So unsteady was the path before me.
    No clear horizon met my gaze,
    Only shadows stretching into the unknown.

    Having firmly shut the doors of the past,
    I had renounced all that belonged to that world,
    Memories included — or at least I tried to deny them.
    Yet certain ghosts of old, like skeletons risen from nightmares,
    Pursued me wherever I went,
    With steady, relentless steps.
    And I, breath held tight,
    Sought refuge in that realm of shadowy spirits.

    Monsters of a time long lost,
    They watched me slyly from their hiding places,
    Plotting behind my back a possible attack,
    A grasp for power, as if I were a helpless creature,
    Ready to fall into their claws.
    But truly, I knew well that my heart belonged to myself,
    And no one nor nothing could taint it
    With their corruption and decay.
    Elisabetta

  • Impaled By My Own Grief

    Impaled By My Own Grief

    Impaled by my own grief
    Like a butterfly pinned to a wall
    I was standing on the cold soil soaked by my own blood
    Among withered flowers infused with the scent of death
    Embracing my misery as it was a bliss for my weak heart

    Slowly unveiling the image behind the shadows hovering high
    I discovered the reflection of my true self in their shrouds
    I cried out loud, running out of tears of despair
    Dressed in the sparkling veil that the luminaries made for me
    And wearing a crown made of thorns and roses

    All the most terrible memories introduced themselves to me
    They appeared like dreadful ghouls and wraiths
    Stabbing me with their sharp daggers
    Reducing me to a relic
    In the presence of crows and dead trees

    I was an empty shell without reflection or shadow
    Whenever I was wondering, it seemed I didn’t leave any trace
    But only blood and thorns, a representation of my miserable existence
    What I was I knew not
    I became an enigma to myself

    I collapsed like a wax sculpture
    As I was an extinguished flame
    With a body stitched by bandages and shattered dreams
    Each thread was a reminder of the pangs carved all over my body
    And my heart was a crushed crystal

    The gleaming moonlight created an aura made of silver
    Spectres were floating over me
    While I was waiting for the stars to guide me
    But no sign was there for me
    Only the deepest darkness and squalid solitude

    The cruel fate had decreed my end with the worst despair of my soul
    All my cries were dispersed by the cold wind of a winter night
    Nothing more was there for me
    I had lost everything dear to me
    And a storm wrapped me in its deadly embrace

    Impaled by my own grief
    I was the embodiment of my own tragedy.
    Elisabetta

  • Trapped By My Dreams

    Trapped By My Dreams

    Trapped by my dreams, I was living exclusively in my eternal slumber
    From which I could not be awakened anymore
    Enchanting siren melodies and terrifying cries bewitched my heart
    The perpetual candles burning close to my bedside had the scent of deception

    I was no longer frightened by life and society
    I felt like the most free and ethereal creature in the universe
    And I ventured to remote islands of phantasmagoria
    Thunders of insanity crashed through my heart

    It seemed that everything was shaking, and a roar erupted
    A fierce and wild cry shattered the stillness of my fantasy
    The sky split open with flashes of burning glare
    As if the universe itself was coercing me to succumb to its chaotic will

    The destruction began its monumental obliteration of all my desires
    I could not cry or scream, for I had become silent
    I was like a hollow vessel lost in its fate while caught in a storm’s violent embrace
    My heart, which once burned with ardent passion, was now a feeble flame twinkling like a dying blaze

    I found myself wandering in the graveyard of my dreams
    My heart was bleeding for all the anguish and grief that filled it
    I got lost among the fragments of my shattered illusions
    While hovering through the ruins of my beliefs and loves

    I remained besieged by the ghosts of my fears in the company of bleeding roses
    I had lost all my beloved treasures, and all that remained to me was just dust of decay
    Condemned to be devoured by the infinite nothingness
    I could not see any of my hallucinations

    I could not hear any of the enchanting whispers that the wind used to bring to me as a messenger
    Forced to be enslaved to death and obliteration
    I was no longer trapped by my dreams
    And I dwelled in an unending state of sorrow.
    Elisabetta

  • The Twilight of Ruin

    The Twilight of Ruin

    The twilight of ruin decayed among shadows
    A magnificent graveyard of dreams and desires
    I had to die many times in order to live again
    Terrifying statues were starring to me
    Their eyes made of thorns carved sorrow on my face
    They were the guardians I had buried inside my heart

    The dry tree branches were sharp claws trying to clasp me
    Their elongated roots reached my gown
    Dragging me impetuously towards the secret underworld
    As if death reclaimed me as its precious possession
    And that stillness so soft and pale was a spell for my final demise
    I knew immediately that I was languidly dying

    I was a belonging of the realm of death
    An eternal flame of doom burned inside my heart
    I became an immortal creature of darkness
    A dark fairy flying over the garden of withered roses
    No passions could be reanimated since they faded away
    Blue and grey hues of melancholy tinted my dress

    I felt a fabulous and decadent flower of the night
    I lived an existence of perpetual night and decay
    I loved my seclusion and loneliness beneath a gloomy and cloud sky
    Shadows and ghosts were my loyal companions
    The blades of the rose thorns made me bleed,
    kissing my lips
    The exquisite scent of coffins lingered in the gloom

    I was free and ethereal, like the crimson petal of a rose
    I was not anymore afraid to lose everything once was my belongings
    I was dead and bound to the eternal realm of nothingness
    Devoted and loyal to my grief and anguish, I was married to the dark, eternal hush
    The echoes of the dead alive clung to me like mourning veils
    And I danced, lost beneath the indifferent gaze of the moon at the twilight of ruin.
    Elisabetta

  • The Storm of Doom

    The Storm of Doom

    The storm of doom had begun to roar,
    A thunder rolled upon the moor.
    The skies had grown black, the winds unchained,
    As darkness drowned the earth in the rain.

    The lightning had cut a jagged seam,
    A fractured night, a shattered dream.
    It had struck the tower, ancient, grim,
    A tomb for those who dwelled within.

    The windows rattled in their frames,
    The hearth’s flame flickered and then proclaimed,
    Its dying gasp in choking ash,
    While echoes of the lost desires had crashed.

    The walls had wept mould, the ceiling cracked,
    As shadows crawled from ancient tracks.
    Their forms were vague, their voices cried,
    A haunting wail that never died.

    Beneath the storm of doom, despair ruled in all its might,
    Devouring everything in endless nights.
    Its fury had fed on grief and dread,
    And sought the hearts of those misled.

    The ocean had churned in wrath below,
    As wretched waves crashed to and fro.
    The cliffs had eroded, the earth had given way,
    And night consumed the light of day.

    When silence fell and the wind subsided,
    The storm of doom retreated, but death abided.
    Its final sigh had been a chilling hymn,
    For those who had met their fate within.

    In the abyss where shadows and darkness crept,
    Arcane secrets awakened, and the lost souls wept.
    A dance of phantoms, sorrow’s choir,
    Ignited the aura with ghostly fire.

    They whispered tales of what once had been,
    Of lovers lost and ancient scars.
    In every crack, in every sigh,
    The dreams lingered and never died.

    The storm might have faded, but memories clung,
    In haunted hearts, they twisted and sang.
    For as the tempest faded from sight,
    The boundless night consumed every fading light.

    Euphoric and lush senses were only mirages in the imagination of dreamers who fell into oblivion.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • A Tragic Fate

    A Tragic Fate

    A tragic fate ruled beneath a mournful autumn sky,
    A forsaken shade stood with a tearful eye,
    And a stare falling upon a distant stone,
    Where memories lay carved in bone.

    The winds had howled low; the trees had bent near,
    Whispers were carried, fraught with fear.
    A tragic fate, so cruelly spun,
    The story ended where it had begun.

    It was a gloomy tale of a life forever paused,
    A frail and fair existence swallowed by despair’s cruel snare.
    The wanderer watched as doom took its due,
    Helpless as its darkness grew.

    A wilted rose lay upon a grave,
    A token of a life once given.
    In nights that wept and days that knew despair,
    Absence haunted in hollow air.

    The earth was consumed, the coffin decayed,
    Life was reduced to memories soon forgotten.
    What solace could the grieving find,
    When death had left the world behind?

    The ravens summoned from their twisted trees,
    Evoked echoes lingered in the bitter breeze.
    Forgotten mortal fragments traced the path,
    To where the silent shadows did laugh.

    A chill resided in every gust of heft,
    Every sigh became a dirge that spoke of death.
    The sky hung heavy, draped in grey,
    As if mourning the world’s decay.

    In every shroud of mist that swirled,
    The darkness deepened, and silence curled.
    Beneath the ground, the roots entwined,
    To claim a body once divine.

    The clock ticked on, though spirits faded,
    Their murmurs were lost where graves were laid.
    And as the night unfolded its veil,
    The air grew thick with a mournful wail.

    Beneath the mournful autumn shade,
    Two souls rested, their debts repaid.
    The earth reclaimed its lost embrace,
    And time forgot each sorrowed face.

    In the gloom, an eerie glare burnt in all its might,
    It kept flickering dimly through the night.
    It wove between the gravestones’ gloom,
    A ghostly waltz, a dance of doom.

    At last, voices from the shadows called,
    They whispered tales of love’s great fall.
    The leaves rustled with each breath,
    Carrying echoes of untimely death.
    A tragic fate was inevitable for the eternity.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Spell of Death

    The Spell of Death

    The spell of death was cast beneath the shroud of twilight’s darkness,
    Like a poisonous ivy with tendrils creeping through the shadow’s gate,
    To bind the souls to a woeful and inexorable fate,
    While the night devoured hope, sealing every dreadful fate.

    The atmosphere was gloomy and tainted by whispers of despair,
    As spirits writhed in torment’s snare,
    Their cries were like distant thunder in the dimmed air.
    The cauldron’s brew did bubble and hiss,
    Unleashing doom with a ghostly kiss.

    In midnight’s chill, the spirits wept,
    For those ensnared in shadows kept,
    Their agony echoed through the hollow crypt,
    The ancient curse, a binding vow,
    Wrought in sorrow, sealed somehow.

    From crypts below, the dark arts arose,
    Enchanting mourners’ despondent like dead roses,
    And spreading dread like frost’s cruel fingers on a winter’s night.
    The moon looked on, a spectral glare,
    As death’s cold fingers filled the air.

    Once summoning words did invoke despair,
    A cauldron boiled in the witches’ lair.
    They chanted doom with a hollow tone,
    Their voices echoed like graveyard stone.

    The candles flickered, life faded pale,
    As shadows writhed and spirits wailed,
    While the flames danced wildly to the cursed wind’s breath.
    Through dust and ash, a chill descended,
    The curse persisted; it never ended.

    Bones rattled in the dampened earth,
    Their souls were condemned, with no hope for rebirth.
    A heart that pounded was not supposed to beat anymore,
    Entombed within death’s dreadful lore.

    Beneath the obscure veil of night’s caress,
    The darkness deepened, and horrors did press.
    The spell of death was cast; none could have been saved,
    For death has come, and silence craved.

    In this realm of delightful derealisation,
    Nightmares came true as real visions,
    Of ghosts and demons that danced with glee,
    Amid stormy winds of dark eternity.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Ghosts of the Forgotten

    The Ghosts of the Forgotten

    The ghosts of the forgotten wandered near,
    In twilight’s grasp, they did appear.
    Their forms were faint, like fading mist,
    And shadows clung where the light was kissed.

    Their whispers rose with night’s cold wreath,
    Echoes of life were now tinged with death.
    They lingered where the darkness fell,
    Between the world and some lost hell.

    Among the ruins, they found their place,
    Where time had left no single trace.
    The walls were cracked, the stones were bare,
    And sorrow hung upon the despair.

    The moon above, an eerie eye,
    Watched over where the spirits did sigh.
    Its silver light fell upon the ashen ground,
    Gave shape to those who made no sound.

    They drifted through the shattered halls,
    Where faded portraits lined the walls.
    Their eyes were empty, cold as stone,
    Forever trapped, forever alone.

    And in the corners, shadows grew,
    Where dreams decayed, and fear came into view.
    The ghosts would reach with hands of frost,
    Reminders of what once was lost.

    Their laments merged in mournful cries,
    A symphony of endless sighs.
    They sang of grief and silent dread,
    Of restless nights among the dead.

    Nevertheless, in their sorrow, there was grace,
    A haunting beauty in their face.
    For though they roamed in death’s embrace,
    Their longing time could not be erased.

    And as the night gave way to dawn,
    The ghosts of the forgotten were gone.
    They vanished with the morning’s stealth,
    Returning to their quiet and eternal death.

    But among the ruins, still and grey,
    Their presence lingers with the day.
    And all who wander through that place,
    Will feel the chill of their cold embrace.

    A last desire might have been exposed,
    That every whispered secret might remain undisclosed,
    Until the very end of the eternal darkness,
    Where time surrendered to a haunting stillness.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Echoes of Solitude

    Echoes of Solitude

    The echoes of solitude lingered like ghosts,
    Each sigh was a reminder of what was permanently lost.
    In the chambers of silence, where memories faded,
    I traced the soft outlines of illusions that betrayed.

    Once passionate and secure, my heart knew no bounds,
    However, in the quiet, the many storms overwhelmed around.
    The walls whispered secrets of sorrow and pain,
    Recounting the moments where hope met disdain.

    Each creak of the floorboard evoked a haunting voice from the past,
    Telling of fables and merriments that couldn’t last.
    The portraits that hung on the walls seemed to cry,
    Reflecting my longing, my wish to defy.

    In the heart of the stillness, where time lost its touch,
    I wandered through memories; my heart could not heal from the clutch.
    The enigmas became entangled, too complex to feel,
    A web of lost moments, no truth to reveal.

    I spoke to the shadows, confided my fears,
    Revealing the heartache that flowed like my tears.
    Indeed, in this embrace of the silent abyss,
    I found a strange comfort, a longing for bliss.

    For solitude wrapped me in a stone mansion,
    Where the flowers of anguish began to flourish without caution.
    In the stillness, I pondered the paths that I chose,
    And the weight of my sorrow, a delicate prose.

    Each echo was a lesson, each silence a melody,
    In the chasms of my solitude, I found serenity.
    Though the world outside faded into the mist,
    In the meadows of solitude, I found my true bliss.

    But even in happiness, a cloud remained,
    A reminder of all that could never be tamed.
    For solitude’s comfort is an ephemeral glimpse at best,
    A fleeting illusion that cannot bring rest.

    And so I remain, a soul intertwined,
    Among echoes of solitude, lost to the mind.
    Surrounded by the quietude, I drift like the night,
    Searching for peace, yet bound to the light.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Dead Desires

    Dead Desires

    Dead desires lingered like ghosts,
    Hovering over ruins of faded aspirations,
    The giggles of delight that once filled the air turned to despair,
    A reminder of desires that withered away,
    Like autumn leaves crumbling into dust,
    Beneath the weight of relentless time.

    In the stillness of forsaken dreams,
    Shadows swirled under the tree of hopes that once thrived,
    Weaving through remnants of a forgotten past,
    Each piece of yearning faded into the void,
    As the heart’s vibrant ache succumbed to silence,
    Lost in the echoes of what could have been.

    Days, once painted in vivid hues,
    Became shrouded in muted greys,
    Each moment became a cruel reminder,
    Of warmth that slipped through fingers,
    The chill of time’s cruel embrace
    Froze every hope into lifelessness.

    A single tear traced a path down a cheek,
    Carrying the burden of unfulfilled wishes,
    The heart, once a vessel of fervour,
    Now beat with a hollow rhythm,
    A metronome marking unachieved desires,
    Each tick resonated with loss.

    Dead desires drifted like fallen leaves,
    Words unspoken, deeply felt,
    In the stillness, they hung heavy,
    As the moon illuminated the decay of hope,
    Scattering dreams like ashes in the wind,
    Leaving only shadows of what had been.

    As twilight approached, the air grew colder,
    Each breath was a reminder of dreams abandoned,
    The heart ached for the fire it once held,
    Now, only embers remained,
    Smouldering in the corners of a darkened soul,
    A monument to the dead desires that lingered on.

    In the quiet corners of memory,
    The shadows whispered tales of longing,
    The paths not taken became a haunting refrain,
    As the heart learned to dwell in the silence,
    Embracing the sorrow that filled the void,
    Finding beauty in the ashes of dreams.

    Dead desires echoed through the aisles of time,
    A haunting melody of what might have been,
    Reverberating through the deepest depths of the abyss,
    And, in their sight, the heart understood,
    That within each ember lay a spark of hope,
    A reminder that even in loss, tragedy can unveil meaning.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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