Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: poetic despair

  • Dreams Of Oblivion

    Dreams Of Oblivion

    Dreams of oblivion darkened my sleep.
    They were like palliatives for my searing pain,
    numbing my heart and soothing—
    If only for a moment—
    My spasms of fear.

    My disappointments had become like cobwebs woven inside my heart,
    darkening every joy, even the smallest.
    Ultimately, I had not chosen my fate,
    and I groped in the dark uncertainty,
    trying to understand where I was and who I was.

    The disdain and aloofness that oozed from the faces of mortals who had crossed my miserable existence
    had transformed me into a silent, sombre shadow
    whose image did not appear in any mirror.

    In my dreams of oblivion and madness, mediocre monsters that sought to tear me apart
    appeared menacingly in the realm I tried to protect and keep as mine.
    Their intrusion was truly an act of violence.
    Their intent to destroy me was the source of my fears.

    Ancient dusty clocks tolled the time, which always seemed the same.
    The dust of decay and sorrow fell upon me like a heavy rain,
    covering me completely and turning me into an invisible shell.

    Watchful and evanescent veils covered me, so as not to show me the harsh reality whose injustice and squalor could have tainted the integrity of my heart. And my attempt to awaken from that stupor mixed with despair was in vain.

    I was about to become oblivion.
    I was about to become my dreams.
    I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
    almost invisible and nonexistent,
    that no mortal of the common reality
    could have seen with their limited gaze
    shrouded in prejudice.
    I was about to become an ephemeral, evanescent creature,
    almost invisible and nonexistent,
    that no mortal of the common reality
    could have seen with their limited gaze
    shrouded in prejudice.

    Perhaps I myself was an illusion,
    perhaps I had become a utopia or a chimaera.
    The devastating pain had transformed me
    and erased every trace of my mortality.
    Elisabetta

  • Mournful Shadows

    Mournful Shadows

    In the stillness of the night, the sky was stormy and overcrowded with lightning and thunder. Rain was pouring down, and the wind was impetuous.

    The exquisite scent of rainwater perfumed my small chamber from which I glimpsed the dark and stormy landscape.

    Chaos and order alternated in my bleak soul, full of grief. A piercing funereal pain had gripped my entire essence.

    Intrusive thoughts and faded hopes crowded my mind as if they were unwelcome intruders, not invited by me.

    Joy and darkness unfolded like buds in my soul, becoming thorny briars that wounded my heart and tore apart my being.

    The bright sun, dethroned in the sky by great threatening and dark clouds in a midsummer storm, was no longer on my visual horizon, making me reflect on my bleak and mortal fate, which condemned me to a sense of perpetual anguish.

    It was as if I had lost the ability to express all that I felt in my heart, the most hidden secrets and concealed truths that I had never been able to reveal to any mortal.

    My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.

    My fragility had become my only resource—my shattering into pieces and severing from the source of life, from every source of life—had made me like a dead flower in a solitary valley, where a majestic and deserted tower saw its reflection in a ridiculous, nearly nonexistent pond.

    Mournful shadows ruled over me.
    They were the ones who decided my path and my fate.
    They were invisible, yet present—and immensely powerful.
    I felt like a doll, a puppet, at the mercy of their whimsical desires and decisions.

    And so I perished,
    by the hand of my own fears,
    by the hand of my own funeral anguish,
    And I became a mournful shadow myself,
    No different from the others.
    Elisabetta

  • The Well Of Phantom Wishes

    The Well Of Phantom Wishes

    The well of phantom wishes
    Was the well of my disappointments
    Of all those illusions
    That had deceived me
    In a malevolent way
    With their allure
    And their way of
    Misleading me
    With fake smiles and phrases
    Like lines from a script
    But in truth, it was all fake
    Every single thing
    And every
    One I had known, glimpsed
    Were nothing but
    Delusional
    Realities
    Beneath
    A deception
    A cruel deception
    That dragged me down
    Into that well
    So deep and so dark
    That I could not glimpse
    Any
    Vision
    Any hope

    My tears were of no use, nor was my despair.
    My broken heart had shattered, like a crystal or stone ornament,
    its translucence and splendour reduced to dust and fragments,
    soiled by the cold ground, soaked in mud and decadent filth.
    That beauty I had once cherished within me
    had turned into a twisted transfiguration of my own reflection.

    What remained in my hands was dust and decay.
    I closed my eyes, and silence shrouded my thoughts,
    making them vague and fleeting like dark shadows
    that moved around me but I could never reach.

    One of my silver bracelets that shone like stars broke,
    and through its fractures, you could read my life’s illness,
    My malaise of living, my melancholic soul
    that had no peace and could find no place of salvation,
    lost among the clouds that darkened my mind.

    The pain was raining down on me like one of those cold and biting winter rains.
    Almost as if it wanted to scratch me and leave marks like painful and distressing memories that followed me wherever I went at any time.

    My sighs and sobs were mystified by that funeral silence of the endless night which had neither beginning nor end, and which wrapped me in its dark and misty cloak, almost to intoxicate me with its gloom and make me forget my infinite pain.
    Elisabetta

  • Devoured By My Own Dismay

    Devoured By My Own Dismay

    Devoured by my own dismay
    Crying in the middle of the night
    Feeling the sharp points of the daggers impaling my heart
    Fainted behind my shadow
    Forced to live
    Devoted to death
    Striving for darkness and the underworld

    Devoured by my own regrets
    Chains of anguish that bond me to my death chamber
    Where I hid behind the veil of sorrow and blood
    Like a magnificent statue of sorrow veiling her countenance

    I melt in the haze of the night to become invisible
    I become the night and the solitude
    Just a creature of the underworld
    The realm of destruction and death
    Transformation mutes me in infinite shapes and entities

    Devoured by my own dismay
    I linger in my own fantasies
    Sometimes they are my nightmares and they want to obliterate me
    Sometimes they are my fears and anxieties
    Chaining me to my dungeon of anguish

    Slowly the rain falls over me
    Stroking my face as to accompany me in my garden of loneness
    I surrender to my madness and turmoil
    I have no power anymore
    I lost everything to be left with dust and decay

    My heart is stitched and bleeding
    Buried inside a coffin in the graveyard of memories
    In the cemetery of those I lost permanently

    And time seemed to stop at the very moment my grief began to be alive
    Interrupting my life and slicing me into fragments and pieces of flesh and blood
    To be relegated to a poky fate
    Tucked behind time’s dusty drapes.
    Elisabetta

  • Crimson Tears

    Crimson Tears

    Crimson tears came from my deep distress
    As I was wandering infinitely until the edges of time
    Despair became my safe dwelling
    And solitude was just a necessity
    For I was unloved and lonely

    In dungeons of grief and sorrow, I found myself
    Depriving myself of solace was my favourite forte
    I soaked in depression until I drowned deep in the abyss of self-destruction
    I chose to live in chaos because I had lost my sanity
    Madness had become my guide and my wisdom

    I nullified my expectations and I indulged in destructive memories
    I drank from the toxic goblet of oblivion
    With the specific purpose to erase my heart
    Was that feasible?
    I knew not

    Unlearning all my knowledge and forgetting who I was
    I had become nothingness
    I had become a shadow of the underworld
    My soul had dissolved in the infinite void
    I could only feel the darkness take possess of my body

    Crimson tears hushed into rivers of blood
    While the incessant storm of the night locked me up
    In the total gloominess and in the most deafening silence
    I had found consolation in obliteration
    A funeral fanfare came to be my hymn of love and my final requiem

    I embraced death, and I faded away
    I was finally the queen of the realm of arcane shadows
    A kingdom where I ruled over the dead and wraiths
    Surrounded by hollow trees and sharp daggers
    And dressed with spider webs and fragments of vestiges

    I wandered through a mist filled with decay and ashes
    Where nothing changed not even the slow crawl of time
    No praises were to be found but only the pang of endings
    I lay beneath the deformed tree branches
    Among roots slick with damp and grave moss
    And the night closed over me like a tombstone.
    Elisabetta

  • Thunders Of Delirium

    Thunders Of Delirium

    Thunders of delirium amid a storm of stars and wonders devastated the stillness where the void once slumbered. Fantasies wept in spirals of vorticose ashes of dreams, fading in the darkness of the night. Leaving me bewildered and dazed.

    Utopias bloomed like ghostly wounds across the firmament, while shards of stardust hovered in mourning. Eternity sobbed in silent despair while I wandered through the debris of vanished realms, becoming a solitary phantom made of stardust.

    No quiet dwelling was secured as I seemed to respite from a storm of turmoil and madness. It seemed as if I were on the edge of a tremendous maelstrom. A terrible vortex ready to swallow and obliterate me. The doomed fate had decided.

    Desolation turned out to be an endless abyss where darkness lingered forever. Visions faded, turning into tangible nightmares. Darkness and lights carved memories into my heart, and I found myself in an enchanted realm.

    Longings and magnificence adorned my golden ash hair with ivy and thorns. The stars seemed to call my name disrupting the absolute silence that hibernated every melody. I was made of dreams and thorns. I was made of ashes and gilded stars.

    Softly the wind whispered to me about ancient legends and castles built with sand and deception. They melted under the burden of neglected hopes, and I was left on the border of delusion and dispiritedness.

    There were no beginnings to me, just reverberations hovering like phantom wings, that swept me through vestiges of lost glare. I was not looking to be rescued but I just lay in the remote dark. And I vanished, slowly, into the silence of eternity.

    Thunders of delirium distressed me once more, not to revive me but to deprive me of my soul as I dissolved into the hush beyond dreams.
    Elisabetta

  • 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 Bride of Night

    The Bride of Night

    The bride of night hid beneath the veil of an endless night,
    A castle loomed in the dying light,
    Its spires clawing the storm-torn sky,
    Where whispers of forgotten souls still cry.

    The moon, a phantom, pale and weak,
    Hanged in the sky, too cold to speak,
    Its silver gaze fell hard on stone,
    Where shadows gathered, dark and alone.

    The wind it moaned through hollow halls,
    Brushing against the ancient walls,
    Each corner filled with a chilling dread,
    A monument to the long-lost dead.

    Within, a figure roamed the gloom,
    A spectre bound to eternal doom,
    Her eyes, once bright, were hollowed now,
    A crown of sorrow upon her brow.

    She wandered through forgotten rooms,
    Her footsteps were lost in the echoing tombs,
    Searching for a love long passed,
    A memory that time could never cast.

    The candles flickered, faded, and died,
    As shadows danced and serpents lay,
    While silence reigned in its darkest form,
    And dread became the only norm.

    In this castle, time froze still,
    A kingdom lost to an ancient will,
    Where love and hope had long decayed,
    And only shadows in sorrow stayed.

    So here she lingered, bound by fate,
    In this eternal, cursed estate,
    The queen of grief, the bride of night,
    Forever lost in endless blight.

    Her voice, a whisper carried by the wind,
    Calls out for a lover that fate rescinded.
    But the cold, dead halls returned no sound,
    Only silence reigned supreme where grief was crowned.

    The raven watched from its perch on high,
    A witness to the mournful sky,
    While the castle walls decayed and broke,
    As time devoured, all love’s mistakes.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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