Tag: phantasmagoria

A phantasmagoria of mystery pervaded the realm of dreams,
Where delights cast their magic spells,
Glowing like stars in the infinite darkness,
The darkness of rationality and consciousness,
Whose heavy shadows draped over the imagination that dared wander.

Like warm raindrops falling upon open flower blooms,
Passions moistened every blossom of roses with their dew of lust,
Each petal glistening, saturated with feverish desire,
And in the silent sonata, the blossoms swayed,
Unfurling to a breeze that whispered forbidden rhymes.

Oblivion and derealisation welcomed every utopia in this exquisite alcove,
An alcove of lush gardens veiled in mist,
Where roses revealed secrets to the midnight sky,
And the aura, decadent with intoxicating scents,
Lured dreamers further into hallucinations that could not be resisted.

In this realm of opulence, reality blurred, dissolving at the edge of darkness,
Where dawn dared not disturb the exquisite slumber,
And beneath the star-laden canopy, sweet illusions swirled wildly,
Weaving dreams with threads of silk and shadows,
A dance of light and dark, of ecstasy and fervour, entangled forever.

In the gardens of legends, where phantoms ruled,
Each shadow became a wraith of lost desires, drifting, unchained,
Every sigh was heavy with the scent of roses,
And every heartbeat transformed into an echo, fading into the invisible,
An imaginary domain where time dissolved, leaving only the eternal dusk.

A phantasmagoria of mystery happened to be in this enchanted universe,
Where illusions and falsehoods became reality.
A bizarre and fantastic scenario where remembrances did not exist anymore,
And dreams were the irrefutable truth.

Within this unearthly garden of forbidden reveries,
Ethereal spectres wove silent trails through the air, invisible.
Guiding the dreamers and visionaries toward metaphysical revelations,
Past the boundaries of the known and intelligible.

The roses, drenched in twilight’s honeyed essence,
Released their secrets in whispers soft and low,
As if mourning for a life they’d never lived,
And petals drifted down like fallen hopes,
Into pools of ink, where starlight’s glow had ceased.

Beneath a moon veiled in shadows’ dark embrace,
Figures waltzed in silence, spectres of delight,
Invisible, though stirring in every pulse, every heartbeat,
Moving in time to a song unheard, unfathomable,
A hymn to worlds that only slumber can comprehend.

In this phantasmagoric realm, within the depths of the midnight veil,
Where dawn was but a distant tale, lost,
The dreamers sank deeper, surrendering entirely,
To realms beyond the reach of morning’s light,
Forever wandering in the labyrinth of dusk.
Esther Elizabeth Racah