Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: Gothic Poetry

  • The Magic Enchantment

    The Magic Enchantment

    The magic enchantment bound dreams and desires for eternity,
    Upon a cloudless night sky with a pale and trembling moon,
    A blanket of stars lay spread in all its splendour.
    Whispers wove through shadows, haunting and forlorn,

    Each luminary was a silent witness to secrets eternally concealed,
    While a gloomy mist rose in veils, gliding slowly in disguise of ghostly shapes,
    Tormented ghouls swirled in the midnight air,
    Bound by threads of fate to linger forever there.

    The trees were dreadfully hollow, and their branches clawed and twisted,
    Compelled into a timeless dance of sorrow and despair,
    While winds brought fragments of lost and forgotten cries,
    With grievous tones being mournfully entangled by the midnight’s snare.

    Shivers ran deep through the hidden secrecies beneath the cold soil,
    As though even stones kept memories of fear,
    Bound within this dusk of dreams and ancient spells,
    Where shadows reigned, and haunting truths were undisclosed.

    The magic enchantment transformed the whole realm of dreams into a garden of stone flowers and thorns.
    Dead leaves became crystal gems, and ponds altered to iced mirrors.
    Shadows and lights danced at the sound of sighs of grief,
    While no mortal silhouette emerged in that surreal realm.

    A soft breeze of melancholy moved through the stone flowers and crystal leaves,
    Leaving nothing but an ethereal glimmer on their shining surfaces.
    Under the sallow cloak of enchantment,
    Everything became frozen as if held in an endless wail, unseen yet perceived.

    A silence steeped in sorrow descended like an eerie and faint brittle glass,
    And the spectral realm lay draped in ancient spells’ silent pelt,
    Where no dawn would rise, nor any sunrise had ever dwelt.
    In this eternal midnight, the dimness fed upon memories of the past.

    Remnants of dreams were recast by the darkness,
    Lifeless blooms whispered tales of love turned to ash,
    And hope was but a withered wraith bound to linger,
    Caught within the spell that destiny would not have severed.

    And though no mortal hand could trace this ghostly realm,
    The wonder of this magic enchantment was bound and will bind all dreams forever.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Mirror Spell

    The Mirror Spell

    The mirror spell was cast in a time long past,
    When the shadows were more sombre,
    And no light was reflected by that polished glass with worn edges,
    In a realm where dreams and desires were both shattered and torn.

    The mirror held a mystic snare,
    Since an ancient curse was embedded underneath;
    Its countenance became frozen as the night descended,
    Concealing tales of malcontent and sorrow.

    None could ever have touched it,
    A frail and lost vestige of the past.
    No one knew the foolish tale of this magic mirror,
    A mirror that, for every glance, granted but a glimpse of dread,
    Revealing only truths that none could bear.

    Withered hopes and desolate hearts laid bare in that realm of death,
    Each crack was a line of sorrow’s trace,
    Revealing each distorted dream in a haunting silence.
    Each night, it summoned a hollow tone,
    Luring the lost to claim its own;

    In haunted halls, where echoes roamed like wild animals,
    The mirror enticed the lost dreamers,
    Making them drunk on dreams, their fleeting light,
    Swallowed by chasms as dark as night;
    Its silent curse, a binding thread,
    To weave the hearts of the forgotten dead.

    In this fatal frolic of dreams and oblivion,
    Those who dared to peer inside,
    Were drawn to an abyss none could disguise;
    Till flesh and spirit, thin and worn,
    Became as pale as twilight morn.

    The mirror lingered in that desolate dwelling,
    A relic untouched by time,
    Luring those who sought reasons that would forever elude them.
    Veiled in glooms, it became a gateway,
    Pulling ghosts into a realm where whispers of despair merged with the lingering scent of dust and decay.

    Each sigh, a lullaby for the forlorn, coaxed the foolish and fearless alike until consumed by the darkness.
    They hovered beyond the reach of dawn,
    Into the infinite void.
    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

  • An Ephemeral Idyll

    An Ephemeral Idyll

    An ephemeral idyll in twilight’s veil,
    Where the thorns of desires pierced the night,
    A fleeting glimpse of beauty frail,
    Was lost among the shadows’ lair.

    The roses bloomed with bloodstained hue,
    Their petals fell like crimson rain,
    Dew-kissed thorns that pierced anew,
    As night descended, devouring day.

    A lover’s touch, so ghostly cold,
    Clung to the echoes left behind,
    Their sighs, a tale once brightly told,
    Faded like mist in moonlight’s bind.

    The willows wept by waters dark,
    Their branches sighed with ancient grief,
    The stars above, distant sparks,
    Were dimmed by time, a cruel thief.

    A shattered mirror cast no light,
    Its broken shards, a jagged fate,
    Reflected the face of endless nights,
    The past and the present—disintegrated.

    And in this fictitious realm, where phantoms eerily relished,
    A feast unveiled, both endearing and grim,
    For beauty, fleeting as it was, soon vanished,
    A fading hymn at twilight’s brim.

    A voice called out from realms unknown,
    A murmur laced with sorrow’s heft,
    And though the heart remained a stone,
    It shivered at the hint of death.

    The dawn arrived, too pale, too late,
    To chase away that mournful dream,
    For joy and sorrow shared their fate,
    Entwined within the midnight scheme.

    The petals decayed, the stars were gone,
    The lover’s ghost, now lost to time,
    An idyll lived, then swiftly drawn,
    Into a dusk without a rhyme.

    And in that hour, so cold, so still,
    The roses sighed, then faded away,
    An ephemeral idyll was killed,
    And darkness claimed its final prey.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • 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

  • Life Ran Away

    Life Ran Away

    Life ran away like the impetuous stream of a river,
    Beside the dark shadows of the meadows and trees,
    Where the forests grew into a lush of dark green,
    And night descended with secrets unseen.

    The mist curled close in a spectral shroud,
    Wrapping the world in a ghostly crowd.
    The whispers came, soft as a breeze,
    Sighing through leaves, bending the trees.

    In that deep silence, I stood alone,
    Where light seemed lost, and stars were stoned.
    An owl cried out a mournful plea,
    As if it knew the darkness in me.

    I wandered on, where the forest thinned,
    And felt the breath of a rising wind.
    It carried scents of earth and decay,
    A reminder of life that slips away.

    The path grew faint, the night grew bold,
    Its grip around me, icy cold.
    But then a light began to gleam,
    A flicker caught in the edge of a dream.

    It glowed upon a distant hill,
    Where the air grew thick, and death stood still.
    I climbed towards it, heart in thrall,
    But shadows reached and seemed to call.

    Their voices merged, a twisted song,
    Of those who wandered far too long.
    I felt them close, felt their despair,
    And saw their faces in the air.

    Still, the light drew me near,
    Though every step awakened fear.
    At last, I reached the spectral flame,
    But found no solace, found no name.

    For there upon the haunted ground,
    A single grave I found.
    Its stone was cold, its epitaph bare,
    And in its silence, I saw myself there.

    And there I stood, my breath caught tight,
    As moonlight spilt, so thin, so white.
    A distant echo called my name,
    Like ashes drifting from a flame.
    I traced the letters carved in stone,
    And felt a chill that reached my bone,
    Life ran away: a perpetual epitaph.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Dreams and Spells

    Dreams and Spells

    Dreams and spells coveted in the abyss of shadows where phantoms crept,
    Wandering through a realm half-wept.
    The moon hung low; its face was pale,
    And whispered of a ghostly tale.

    The sky became gloomy, the stars were dim,
    As winds sang out a mournful hymn.
    Every path was lost in endless nights,
    Beneath a sky that held no light.

    Through twisted woods, the wanderers found a gate,
    Its iron bars were wrought with fate.
    A voice called out, both near and far,
    Like echoes from a fallen star.

    “Step forth,” it said, “into the dream,
    Where silence reigns and shadows gleam.”
    Those who crossed the threshold felt the spell,
    A touch of darkness known too well.

    The world within was strange and wild,
    Where reason’s grip was swiftly beguiled.
    The ground was ash, the trees were bone,
    Their branches cracked in a sorrowful tone.

    A figure stood with eyes like fire,
    A sorceress of dark desire.
    She raised her hand, the spell was cast,
    And time itself could not hold fast.

    The dreamers drifted then, their senses blurred,
    In realms where whispered words were heard.
    Each secret spoke of death’s embrace,
    Of haunted dreams and hollow grace.

    The stars fell down like frozen tears,
    Unveiling long-forgotten fears.
    Intense was the feeling of the pull of ancient woe,
    Beneath the weight of night’s cold glow.

    The sorceress turned, her gaze met the others,
    A silent bond both fierce and delicate like smothers.
    She beckoned close, her fingers curled,
    And swirled those unfortunates through her shadowed world.

    A beginning of a frantic dance upon a sea of mist,
    Where every wing gust felt like a tryst,
    With darkness draped in velvet black,
    And the time that twisted, bent, and cracked.

    The spell then broke; the dream grew thin,
    Those delusionals found themselves where they’d once been.
    The gate was gone, the night was still,
    But in every heart, there lingered a chill.

    For though every heart left that cursed realm,
    Its shadows clung; they overwhelmed.
    And in every soul, dreams and spells were bound,
    Whispered secrets lost, never to be found.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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