Dead longings in the hollow of the heart,
Where love once bloomed, and dreams fled,
Now echoes fade, they fall apart,
As night devours, the final thread.
The garden where desires grew,
Is withered, choked by endless frost,
What once was bright, what once was true,
Now whispers only of what’s lost.
Forgotten are the hands that clung
To tender hopes now turned to dust,
The songs unsung, the hearts unstrung,
All broken by the weight of rust.
The wind that stirs the barren plain,
Brings memories of joy undone,
Dead longings, cold as rain,
Now linger like the setting sun.
No flame remains to pierce the dark,
No fire to warm the frozen earth,
For what once burned, a fleeting spark,
Now dwells within the arms of death.
The silence sings a mournful tune,
Of distant days and vanished bliss,
The stars that crowned the moon at noon
Now, sleep within the cold abyss.
What meaning lies in dreams long dead,
In hopes that time has been stripped away?
Dead longings, their stories fled,
Now swallowed by the fading day.
The house of longing, long entombed,
Stands crumbled by the march of years,
Its halls, once bright with life consumed,
Now echo with forgotten fears.
Upon the mantel, cold as stone,
Lie relics of forgotten times,
And dust has claimed what’s left alone,
In silence thick as ancient crimes.
No wind, no glimmer, no ardour remains,
Just shadows of what used to be,
A wasteland forged by grief’s cruel chains,
Where once-beating hearts now cease to plea.
Desire, now a ghostly call,
Beckons from the tomb of the past,
Faded desires feel their fall,
A flame too weak, too dim to last.
In haunted dreams, these longings stir,
But never wake, they never rise,
Dead longings, a fading blur,
That lingers in forsaken skies.
What’s left are shadows, dim and faint,
Of passions now forever sealed,
A heart that once could dream and paint,
Now leaves no wound, no scar revealed.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
