Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: melancholic fantasy poetry

  • Phantasmagoric Fantasies

    Phantasmagoric Fantasies

    Phantasmagoric fantasies were my kingdom of infinity and eternity
    A divine refuge where I could fly freely like a fairy
    Whenever the storms of fear and dismay came upon me

    I craved love and devotion like a thirsty blossom seeking the rain
    Nevertheless, what I could find were relics of forgotten treasures and vessels of mystery
    Silence was the only sound I could hear during my lonely and endless nights

    My beating heart was full of spells and illusions, trying to fill the void with silly desires
    Although I had whispered my secrets to the luminaries glimmering in the night firmament
    I could listen to the time ticking as it slipped like heavy raindrops

    The flickering candlelight kept me warm while my heart sank in the gelid ocean of sorrow
    For I was exiled to an evanescent world
    Where everything was ephemeral and illusory

    As much as I clung to false hopes, nowhere was destined to ever become my beloved secluded niche
    For I was fated to wander evermore without any guidance or aim

    Quaffing arcane potions, I fed my soul with darkness and fire
    Perceiving my slow descent into the chasm of oblivion
    I became a fierce sorceress willing to face any kind of hazard

    Lost lyrics echoed in my mind as if they were fragments of my memories
    The suspense of my fragility made me shiver like a delicate flower under the touch of a frosty wind
    I got lost in phantasmagoric fantasies woven in my dreams

    For I was a dream myself, mesmerised by the beauty of my own imagination
    Shunning the bitter truth that my broken mirrors insisted on revealing to me

    I had always been made of illusions, even though my broken heart persisted in loving chimaeras and ghosts, sinking into the infinite abyss of nothingness.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • The Shadow Of Decay

    The Shadow Of Decay

    The shadow of decay was behind me, perpetually, like a faithful lover, pulling every hope of being loved and cherished as a unique treasure out of my heart. It was a distorted mirror reflecting my anguish and fears, filling my chamber with scarlet red incense, oppressing and stifling me, and preventing me from seeing my own portrait.

    I lived this overwhelming and dreadful pseudo‑reality in constant anguish, no longer understanding whether it was truth, a surreal fantasy, or the product of my hallucinations. I perceived those grievous candles that enflamed my yearnings every time I approached them.

    The cold rock walls were so thick that, however much I strove to lament and weep my pain, no one could ever hear it—no mortal and no creature from the mysterious world of immortality to which, apparently, I now belonged.

    Amid dust and teardrops, I was relegated like an evanescent creature, living on the faint light of garnet candles, and thick, resinous incense smoke that enveloped me in its sacred, suffocating haze. Even the stars refused to shine into my little vault, where my pierced heart lay clutched by the crumbling walls like a macabre relic on display.

    I was no longer able to harbour a desire or hope for an existence made of enchanted flowers and love spells. I had lost in the abyss of obliteration everything I had desired, and all that I had vainly pursued in my tragic life had vanished, offering me just a bleak and mortifying dungeon for my soul.

    And thus I vanished into a menacing and omnipresent cloud that loomed over me. Even the decrepit walls, made of cold and insensible rock, had no tears to shed for my bitter demise. I myself had become the shadow of decay, no longer a mortal being but a creature of that world I had so long forgotten, which, despite everything, had embraced me entirely and inescapably.
    Elisabetta Esther

  • My Delight Was My Demise

    My Delight Was My Demise

    My delight was my demise. My desires, so bitter and dark, gripped my heart, conquering it with all their vehemence, and all my most secret desires crumbled like shards of crystal upon the frozen, sorrowful ground.

    Alas, misery had granted me a fate in which I was a sacrificial prey. And yes, I had no escape from my cruel destiny. However much I loved the fondness and delight of a chimerical existence made of dreams and delicate flowers.

    Reneged by mortals and secluded within my dark and comfortless vault, I sought refuge in my fantasy, while my withered soul was doused in sorrow. I strove to forget all my most hidden and forbidden desires, but their memories left an imprint on my heart.

    I wept and shed as many tears as there were saline water drops in the infinite ocean that stretched far away from me, since I was not granted the privilege of beholding it from my dark refuge, nor was I allowed to see the stars.

    A lugubrious existence had become my fatal destiny. My only companions were my perpetual candles, which illuminated my gloomy chamber, merely to remind me of my anguish, my dismay, and my despondency.

    Ghosts of the past spied on me, casting shadows upon the ancient walls, dilapidated by the storms. The echo of my sighs reached the stars, which gazed at me with cynicism and indifference, as if I were unworthy of their devotion, while dark and menacing clouds reminded me of my defeat.

    While scattered feelings bounced within my torn and apathetic heart, menacing shadows embodied my fears and my most obscure secrets, which I would never have been able to reveal to any soul.

    Therefore, between surrender and fatal torpor, I lay inert, as though I were a marble statue. In all my fragility and in all my vulnerability, I knew that what awaited me was nothing but the doom of my heart, my essence, my very self. A total obliteration and oblivion were my final destination.
    Elisabetta Esther

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