Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: haunted garden

  • The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The Graveyard Of My Luscious Flowers

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers appeared in all its majesty and magnificence, hiding arcane secrets and alluring spells of lost loves that were now just a scatter of dust and blood. My wicked heart had dragged me into the abyss of dismay where I had been pierced lusciously by devilish ghouls.

    In the certitude that no creature loved me but all that I could cherish was the despised portrait of my dreams, which had been buried alive in the graveyard of my luscious flowers. Sweet funeral melodies floated like a gentle winter breeze, making me melt like a snowflake under the sun.

    I huddled among the gravestones looking, for a trace of one of my flowers but I searched in vain because I found only slimy earth and ice. I could see shadows peeking out from the dry branches of dead trees, whose roots were soaked in despair and bones.

    An exquisite storm ripped me apart and stole my shattered heart, along with all my desires and dreams. I dared to chase all the stars of the night sky; nevertheless, I couldn’t find them because they were not there for me. I had altered into an ethereal entity. I wasn’t alive. I wasn’t dead.

    I fantasised about pointed shining swords and crimson incense, whenever a demon would seize me like a disposable porcelain doll. I wasn’t made of blood and bones anymore. I was a metaphysical creature made of turmoil and madness. Instead of a heart, I had an iron-made coffin.

    I embraced the realm of death and depravity, and like a fierce ghost, I hunted treasure chests with hearts locked inside. Because, I yearned for love and passion, like a flower in the desert craved water. I was an everlasting flame, and I was a frosty blizzard.

    I enjoyed being a wicked sorceress, ready to cast evil spells, and finding delight in my graveyard, confiding in my crows, skulls, and crimson roses. I amused myself by tasting sweet and bitter poisons and sipping the blood of my mortal prey. I swallowed nonsense and fire beneath the deep garnet moonlight.

    I was disdain and love. I was death and life. I was darkness and light. I was lust and virginity. I was madness and wisdom. I was corruption and purity. I was horror and beauty. I was cruelty and virtue. Everything lingered within me, and nothingness swirled like a tempest inside me as well.

    I was charred alive because of my foolish and insatiable lusts. Having no blood, flesh or bones, I was made only of fire and ice. Instead of a heart, I had an abyss of frenzy. My fondness for torture and stupor was infinite, like the oblivion of the universe.

    The graveyard of my luscious flowers was my agony and my bliss. All my blood had been splattered upon the stormy wind and all my bones had been reduced to ashes. My soul belonged entirely to the magical realm of demons and witches, and embracing the doom became my only dream.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • In Chaos And Madness

    In Chaos And Madness

    In chaos and madness, I’ve got lost while dreaming
    It was as if I could see only with my soul but not with my eyes
    The realm I found myself in was just an illusion of my own imagination
    Wandering around among fantasies and hallucinations

    I became aware that everything was going to be destroyed
    Death and obliteration were waiting for me and my realm of dreams
    Behind every bliss of mine, there was a tragic ache that carved wounds on my body
    A hopeless loneliness was the only flower blooming in my garden

    Sordid was the soil on which I trembled with dread and fear
    Where each flower was watered by illusions and embedded in despair
    Each petal bled with loss and remorse at the feet of the fountain of disdain
    And I felt overwhelmed by the dizziness swaying between chaos and madness

    I couldn’t see any creature on the darkest night I have ever attended
    While the silence had devoured every sound, it left the pounding of my heart to hunt me
    I was torn from my world of daydreams to be cast into a realm of annihilation and grieve
    And became part of the garden of dead trees

    Every sensation and memory muted into a scar
    Every teardrop became part of that fountain of grief
    The roots of each hollow tree chained me to the cold soil
    I was one of the several withered flowers in that garden of insanity

    The instability of my condition was assured by my bound to decadence
    I swore my oath to the thorns that crowned my garden of roses and frenzy
    Delirium and ecstasy possessed my bleeding heart
    All the longings of mine were buried deeply into the abyss of eternity

    I screamed my despair, and I cried teardrops of blood
    In chaos and madness, I had become the darkness and wickedness
    I was the queen of the night and eternity
    And the void belonged to me as long as I belonged to the realm of death and oblivion.
    Elisabetta

  • Frantic Pangs of Dismay

    Frantic Pangs of Dismay

    Frantic pangs of dismay ensnared every passionate heart,
    Once it became trapped inside the abyss of solitude and delusions,
    Still and frozen was this garden of sorrow and grief,
    Where for each buried heart, a crimson rose arose in all its exquisite magnificence.

    No mortal could have dared inside this overwhelming realm of death and love,
    Whose soil was soaked in blood and betrayal,
    The blood of those unfortunate who fell prey to the magic spell of poisonous passions in the midst of secrets and arcane legends.

    Veiled in shadows lay the remnants of ephemeral oaths,
    Of lovers who dared, then despaired and dissolved in mist,
    Bound in the haunting chasms of this forsaken land,
    Where fervent vows were carved on stones now cracked and senseless.

    Each petal seemed to bleed, crimson-stained in sombre grace,
    An epitaph for souls who perished in love’s ruthless snare,
    While moonlight cast its pallid glow upon forgotten graves,
    And silence reigned, a ghostly song for all who’d met their doom.

    Beneath the roots, relics of devotion lingered motionless dead,
    In twisted knots and burning sighs, entwined in cursed despair.
    In this metaphysical world, phantoms of love and ardour abode, entangled in spectral chains,
    Each sigh came to be an eerie fragment, each stroke a haunting whisper.

    In the midst of the darkness, mist and hollow cries wandered, seeking the warmth of life yet condemned to eternal frost.
    Whilst roses gleamed in shades both decadent and dark,
    Fed by the remnants of hearts broken in bygone epochs.
    Each bloom was a monument to the souls who could not part,
    Bound by longings that left them to decay yet never fade.

    Frantic pangs of dismay flourished in that desolate garden under the weeping moon.
    A tragic fate was but just a warning and a memory of love’s cruel masquerade,
    While beauty buds, yet fester, lurked in the infinite and endless 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

  • Magic Insolence

    Magic Insolence

    Magic insolence evoked profane desires,
    Blooming in the garden of passion,
    When stupor and chaos fed the soil and roots,
    Under a cloudy sky deprived of stars.

    Arcane dreams devoured the bright lights,
    Devoiding the garden of passion with
    Whispers of forgotten rites and shadows,
    As petals withered, blackened in the night.

    The soil became thick with cursed intent,
    Breathed out a sigh of ancient grief,
    While tangled roots writhed, twisting beneath,
    Feeding on darkness, refusing ascent.

    No stars to guide, no moon to shine,
    Only the heft of silent doom,
    As ghostly winds stirred the gloom,
    The garden lay as time resigned.

    The aura itself seemed enthralled by dread,
    A spell unspoken lingered still,
    Bound to the earth with haunting will,
    Where only a magic insolence and madness dared to tread.

    The trees stood twisted, gaunt and bare,
    Their branches claws in the murky air.
    Each leaf that fell was a silent cry,
    A prayer was unanswered beneath the sky.

    The whispers grew louder, fierce and cold,
    Echoing tales of secrets untold.
    A dance of shadows began to weave,
    Between the tombstones of those who grieve.

    The flowers, once vibrant with lustrous hue,
    Now seeped with sorrow, soaked in blood and dew.
    Their beauty lost in the endless night,
    A memory fading, devoured by blight.

    And in the heart of this cursed domain,
    Where once passion thrived, now only pain,
    A wraith emerged from the creeping dark,
    Magic insolence entrapped everything with a mystical spark.

    With a vacant stare, it gazed in despair,
    Bound forever to the garden’s snare.
    A prisoner to the magic’s cost,
    In this garden where all was lost.

    The wind moaned softly, a mournful plea,
    For the magic of insolence would never release what could never be free,
    As the cursed garden stretched its roots,
    To claim the souls of shattered fruits.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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