Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: poetic despair

  • 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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