Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: rhymes

  • The Labyrinth Of Crimson Nightmares

    The Labyrinth Of Crimson Nightmares

    The labyrinth of crimson nightmares,
    A realm where shadows twisted in endless layers,
    A maze of fear and haunting cries,
    Beneath the blood-red skies.

    Cold and bare walls of gravestones,
    Emerged with a chilling stare,
    Each corner revealed a twisted scene,
    A realm of darkness where ghosts convened.

    The air was made of mournful cries,
    As spectres drifted and dimness flew,
    In hallways of twisted elegance,
    Eternal sorrow left its trace.

    A crimson light, both faint and grim,
    Gave the maze a spectral dim,
    Figures danced in fleeting grace,
    Their faces were hidden, lost in space.

    In every niche, whispers resounded,
    Secrets buried deep, unbound,
    Tales of pain and endless dread,
    Relics of the forsaken since dead.

    Mirrors, cracked and darkly stained,
    Reflected the fears that once remained,
    Eyes stared back with hollow gaze,
    Lost in the maze’s endless haze.

    The scent of flowers, tinged with decay,
    Lingered where nightmares plotted in dismay,
    A silent scream, a phantom’s wail,
    Guided the lost through fearsome trails.

    A grand hall, yet fraught with disquiet,
    Shadows loomed in eerie twilight,
    A crimson alcove, dark and stark,
    Where nightmares fed on every mark.

    The labyrinth of crimson nightmares,
    Whose walls stirred, twisted, and sighed,
    Entrapping ghouls in endless strife,
    In a realm where infinite death was rife.

    Every turn a darker shade,
    Every step, a deeper raid,
    The labyrinth of crimson nightmares with its shifting maze,
    Kept trapped in its cruel daze.

    As the night elapsed, the darkness bound,
    The labyrinth of crimson nightmares preyed on disquieted spirits,
    Spectral laughter, ghastly moans,
    Resonated through the darkness.

    The dawn might have come, the maze might have shifted,
    But the crimson curse would never lift,
    In the heart of gloominess’s cruel seam,
    The labyrinth of crimson nightmares remained a dream.

    Each dawn revealed a graver fright,
    In endless depths of endless nights,
    Unfathomable in its design,
    The maze consumed the light, malign.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Phantom’s Lament

    The Phantom’s Lament

    The phantom’s lament was the host of an old and empty manor,
    Where silence filled the air,
    And a ghost drifted through each dusty room,
    With memories laid bare.

    The rooms were shrouded in a veil,
    Of dust and shadows pale,
    Where once were merriment, love, and tales,
    Now, only echoes wept.

    The spirit, a wraith of a sorrowed past,
    Drifted through the dim, dark hall,
    Its mournful cry, a haunting blast,
    A melancholy call.

    Each pace it made, each sigh it heaved,
    It was filled with endless grief,
    A tale of loss, where nothing was left,
    And no sweet relief was offered.

    The flicker of an old lamp’s light,
    Cast shadows on the walls,
    Revealed scenes of endless night,
    Where past and future fell apart into the abyss.

    It wailed a mournful, endless cry,
    For a life long gone,
    Bound to wander, never die,
    Since the break of darkened dawn.

    The manor reverberated its plight,
    A song of timeless woe,
    The phantom’s lament, a sorrowed journey,
    That none may have ever known.

    Through every empty chamber, it wept,
    A spectral tale endlessly retold,
    In silence deep, where darkness slept,
    The ghost’s lament unfolded.

    In every corner, shadows crept,
    Their movements were cold and sallow,
    The phantom’s sorrow, dark and deep,
    In this forsaken place.

    No living soul could hear its pain,
    Nor see its endless tears,
    Forever trapped in sorrowful chains,
    Through endless nights and years.

    Its only company, the night,
    And memories long faded,
    A soul forever out of sight,
    Loneliness invaded.

    Thus, it roamed through halls and doors,
    A sentinel of anguish,
    Haunted by the life it wore,
    In search of lost tomorrows.

    The phantom’s lament was never weary,
    A tale of endless nights,
    Forever lost, forever one,
    With shadows, out of sight.

    Its cries echoed through time and space,
    A mournful melody, a sorrowed trace,
    In this haunted place.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Living Secret

    The Living Secret

    The living secret lay in the heart of an ancient wood,
    Where shadows whispered, and wind brooded,
    A secret lived, long kept in the gloom,
    Breathing within the forest’s tombs.

    Whispers of sorrow filled the air,
    Ghostly figures, pale and fair,
    Guarded the tale of dreams and dread,
    Bound to secrets, never dead.

    Moonlight seeped through twisted trees,
    Casting shadows, eerie frieze,
    Where the past and present met,
    A haunting dance, silent yet fleet.

    In the stillness of the night,
    A lantern’s glowed, pale and slight,
    And revealed the secret, living still,
    Hidden in the vale and hill.

    Once a love, now turned to woe,
    In whispers, its sorrow flowed,
    Bound by fate and time’s cruel hand,
    A tale that none could understand.

    Caution was required for those who dared,
    For the living secret lingered there,
    In the heart of the ancient wood,
    Where shadows whispered, and wind brooded.

    Beyond the veil, shadows lingered,
    Reaching out with ghostly touches,
    Eyes like embers, burning bright,
    Glimmering beacon in the endless night.

    They waited for those who would break the chain,
    To lift the curse, to end the pain,
    But none returned from whence they went,
    Lost to the secret’s chilling glow.

    A melody, both sweet and sad,
    Echoed through the glade, so bad,
    Alluring those whose desires belonged,
    To join the wraiths where they indulged.

    Treacherous was the path that led too far,
    Where night concealed the morning star,
    For in the dark, the secret lay,
    Living in the mournful cries.

    Ancient trees with twisted limbs,
    Hid the faces, grim and dim,
    Of souls that wandered, lost and cold,
    In search of peace, they never told.

    Through the mist, a whisper called,
    From forgotten, crumbling halls,
    Where the living secret bided its time,
    A tale spun from sorrow’s rhyme.

    No warning could have saved the brave and bold,
    Of secrets ancient, dark, and old,
    For in the heart of shadowed wood,
    A living secret quietly stood.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Rumbles Of Memories

    Rumbles Of Memories

    Rumbles of memories hid in the hollow heart of the ancient night,
    Where shadows loomed, and the moon’s pale light cast eerie glows,
    Forgotten dreams, as a mournful whisper,
    Softly screamed.

    The old manor stood with creaking bones,
    Its hunted corridors echoed with ghostly tones,
    Rumbles of memories, long suppressed,
    Stirred in the silence, never at rest.

    Once filled with contentment, now void of mirth,
    The walls remembered an epoch of worth,
    But time had faded those golden days,
    Leaving behind a spectral haze.

    In every room, a sorrowed tale,
    Of love and death, now frail and pale,
    Hollowed portraits hung with vacant gazes,
    Watching the centuries as each hope died.

    The majestic chandeliers, their crystals untouched,
    Now gathered dust as relics clutched,
    By hands unseen, that played with grace,
    Memories of feasts haunted this space.

    Through shattered casement, the night wind sighed,
    A dirge for dreams, a lover’s cries,
    Ghostly guises in spectral movements,
    Reenacted their final, tragic chance.

    The library, once a place of meditation,
    Now held the weight of memory,
    Books abandoned, a torn letter was still,
    Silent witness to fate’s cruel will.

    Down in the cellar, darkness thrived,
    Where secrets buried still survived,
    Rumbles of memories, sharp and delirious,
    Spoke of sorrow and woe.

    A gelid wind echoed on ancient stairs,
    A phantom’s tread, a soul’s despair,
    Seeking rest, finding none,
    In a place where time had never ruled.

    In the attic’s gloom, a mirror stood,
    Reflecting visions of shadowed lands,
    A face appeared, so sad, so worn,
    A spirit lost, forever torn.

    The clock struck midnight, a ghostly chime,
    Marking the passage of endless time,
    Rumbles of memories, cold and deep,
    Whispered to those who dared to sleep.

    A tale of loss, sorrow and acceptance to be remembered,
    Of haunted halls and spectral thrall,
    For in the night, the memories were revived,
    Rumbles of the past that forever endured.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Lost Ritual

    The Lost Ritual

    The lost ritual beneath a blood-red and mournful sky,
    Where ancient runes were cast,
    A ritual’s dark secrets lay,
    In shadows of the past.

    The moon hung low, its crimson glow,
    Illuminated the scene,
    Where symbols formed a mystic show,
    In spectral, eerie sheen.

    The circle drawn in midnight’s gloom,
    With symbols strange and old,
    Invoked the spirits from their tomb,
    Their whispers were dark and cold.

    In the heart of an ancient grove,
    The lost ritual unfolded,
    With chants that stirred the winds and roved,
    And tales that darkness held.

    The air grew thick with foreboding,
    As omens twisted and wound,
    A prophecy of dark foreboding,
    Where light and shadow blended.

    A blood moon’s gaze upon the rite,
    Its hue of foreboding red,
    Revealed a glimpse of eternal night,
    And shadows of the dead.

    The rite concluded, the silence deep,
    Yet echoes ever stayed,
    The darkened prophecy to keep,
    And haunt the coming day.

    In cryptic whispers and forgotten lore,
    The lost ritual’s secrets dwelled,
    A dark omen forevermore,
    In shadows’ ghostly spell.

    Deeper still, the grove concealed,
    A power dark and dread,
    As ancient as the earth revealed,
    The secrets of the dead.

    The winds now howled with mournful cries,
    The trees began to sway,
    Beneath the crimson, bleeding skies,
    The spirits came to play.

    The ground was marked with ash and bone,
    A vestige of yore,
    Where shadows danced, and phantoms moaned,
    On this accursed floor.

    The chants grew louder, fervent, wild,
    A chorus of despair,
    As if the very night defiled,
    The sacred, tainted air.

    With each incantation spoken,
    The darkness grew near,
    A seal of fate was now unbroken,
    Revealing untold fear.

    The lanterns flickered, casting shapes,
    Of long-lost souls in plight,
    Their spectral forms in twisted capes,
    Amid the blood-red light.

    The final words, a piercing scream,
    That echoed through the night,
    Awakened all the ancient dreams,
    Of sorrow, pain, and fright.

    The grove now stood in silence,
    The lost ritual at an end,
    Yet in the air, a presence,
    That time would never mend.

    For those who trod this haunted path,
    Beware the curse it kept,
    The ritual’s dark, abiding wrath,
    Within the shadows crept.

    The lost ritual beneath the sky,
    Where moon and shadows blended,
    Would ever haunt the passerby,
    Until the very end.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Haunting Of The Forgotten Realm

    The Haunting Of The Forgotten Realm

    The haunting of the forgotten realm,
    Where time became eternal,
    And dreams descended the haunted hill,
    While echoes of a past bereft moved through the shadows left.

    An ancient castle, old and worn,
    With ivy-clad and weather-torn,
    Stood silent underneath the moon’s cold eye,
    Where spectres of old tales sighed.

    Its walls were a shimmering expanse,
    Holding memories that faded away,
    Yet, lingered in the midnight air,
    A haunting whisper of despair.

    The wind howled through shattered glasses,
    Carried tales of those who passed away,
    Unseen by mortal eyes that wept,
    And into restless slumber crept.

    For in that realm, so lost in space and time,
    Where darkness wove its silent rhyme,
    The spirits of the past convened,
    In shadows deep and ever keen.

    Their mournful cries were but a silent breeze,
    A chilling touch of ancient death,
    That haunted the hallways and chambers,
    Where time and shadow intertwined and loomed.

    No mortal touch could ease the pain,
    Nor light dispel the sombre chain,
    Had been that place so dark and cold,
    The ghosts of yesteryears unfolded.

    Their voices echoed through the night,
    Among spectral dances and phantom flights,
    A tale of sorrow, loss and grim,
    Of lives undone and spirits dim.

    And those who wandered through the gloom,
    They might have found themselves within the crypt of forsaken dreams,
    Where whispers echoed, and shadows schemed,
    Lost in a realm where nothing was as it seemed.

    In that forsaken and haunted land,
    Where time and darkness went side by side,
    The ghosts of the past and fears combined,
    In a kingdom where shadows interlaced.

    Moved through the overwhelming darkness,
    Their shapes, like whispers, drifted by,
    Each step a ghostly echo of the past,
    In a realm where memories never died.

    They wove through the darkness with silent grace,
    Leaving traces of their haunted embrace,
    In a stillness where time seemed to sigh.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Haunting Silence

    The Haunting Silence

    The haunting silence reigned in a forsaken chamber where shadows dwelled,
    The air grew dense, the shadows swelled,
    A presence lingered, cold and near,
    An unseen face, a spectral sneer.

    Beneath the floor, beneath the bed,
    Whispers of lost hopes lingered,
    Their voices blended with the wind’s mourn,
    A mournful tune of spirits torn.

    Curtains swayed with an unseen breeze,
    As if disturbed by ghostly pleas,
    Silence roared, the darkness sighed,
    A realm where living dreams denied.

    Eyes glimmered from the dark,
    A fading light, a ghostly spark,
    In this house of endless gloom,
    Souls were bound within their tombs.

    The clock ticked on with a mournful sound,
    Echoes of the past resounded,
    The air was thick with spectral dread,
    As if the very walls had bled.

    Floors creaked with a mournful groan,
    A house empty, all alone,
    Where shadows danced on walls so bare,
    And ghosts of memories crowded the air.

    In this haunted, shadowed room,
    Time stood still in endless gloom,
    The night was long, the silence deep,
    Where restless souls refused to sleep.

    Each creak and moan, a haunting cry,
    Of spirits trapped in darkness nigh,
    In this place where shadows roamed,
    Ghosts of sorrow found their dwelling.

    Haunting silence wrapped like an invisible cloud,
    A chilling mist, a phantom crowd,
    Lost in the darkness, hearts grew cold,
    As stories of the dead unfolded.

    Spectral fingers traced the air,
    In the ghostly dance of deep despair,
    Unseen eyes watched, shadows crept,
    In this place where silence wept.

    In corners, shadows coiled,
    Haunting silence, their eternal toil,
    Echoes lingered, whispers blended,
    In this silent chamber where time ended.

    The haunting silence was cold, the night was long,
    A spectral lullaby, a ghostly song,
    Faint whispers echoed through the hall,
    As shadows writhed and darkness fell.

    In these walls, secrets stayed,
    Ghostly murmurs led astray,
    A chilling hush, a spectral cry,
    In this remote and unreachable place where echoes died.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Arcane Portal

    The Arcane Portal

    The arcane portal lay in the heart of a desolate and forsaken wood,
    Where ancient trees with gnarled whispers stood,
    There emerged a portal veiled in deep shadows,
    A gateway in the nightly and sorrowful meadows.

    Beneath the moon’s pale, ghostly light,
    The portal pulsed with a spectral might,
    Its frame of obsidian, cold and grim,
    Echoed with chants of a forgotten hymn.

    Creeping fog enshrouded the ground,
    Muffling all the hollow, eerie sound,
    Of whispers from souls long lost in time,
    Who crossed the threshold and committed their crime.

    The air was thick with despair’s embrace,
    No joy or hope could find its place,
    Only the weight of an eternal night,
    And the haunting visions of endless fright.

    From the portal’s depths, a chill wind blew,
    Carrying whispers that no one knew,
    Of secrets buried in the ancient soil,
    Tales of woe, of endless toil.

    Spectres roamed in silent grief,
    Bound to the arcane portal, with no relief,
    Their eyes hollow, their forms so thin,
    Trapped between worlds, they could not grin.

    The trees around, their branches bare,
    Seemed to weep in the cold, still air,
    As shadows danced in a mournful waltz,
    To the portal’s call, a siren’s quartz.

    A lone wanderer, drawn by fate’s cruel hand,
    Stood at the threshold of this cursed land,
    A step away from the endless abyss,
    Where darkness reigned with a twisted bliss.

    Fear-rooted dreams, their heart a snare,
    Caught in the portal’s wicked glare,
    And there they stood, forever bound,
    Trust was lost in the portal’s playground.

    In the silence of the cursed wood,
    Only echoes of lost souls eternally misunderstood,
    The ghosts’ signs, a final plea,
    Lost to the arcane portal’s dark decree.

    No dawn would break this eternal night,
    No hope, no glimpse of heaven’s light,
    Just endless despair, a fate unkind,
    Within the portal blew a perpetual wind,
    A hollow echo, no solace to find.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Exquisite Brilliance

    Exquisite Brilliance

    Exquisite brilliance dawns upon the night,
    A tempest of stars, a gentle gleam,
    Whispering the secrets of their light,
    In dreams, they weave a silent silver stream.

    The moon, a sentinel in azure skies,
    A crescent smile illuminates the earth,
    Its tender glow reflects in phantoms’ eyes,
    And breathes to life a symphony of mirth.

    Beneath this firmament of endless stars,
    A forest stands in tranquil, hushed repose,
    The trees, like guardians of ancient scars,
    Hold stories that the midnight breeze bestows.

    The shadows swirl upon the forest floor,
    As fireflies paint trails of golden hues,
    A realm where myth and magic both explore,
    And nature’s song sings softly of its ancient tales.

    Upon a hill, a solitary pine,
    Stands regal, etched against the dark abyss,
    Its branches reach towards the line,
    Where dawn will blaze its fervent, fiery arc.

    Yet, in a fleeting, fragile hour of the night,
    The realm of reality surrenders to a gentle grace,
    Where time is paused and bathed in sacred light,
    A moment stolen from the day’s fierce chase.

    The waters of a silent, moonlit lake,
    Reflect the splendour of the stars above,
    Each wave reveals secrets that slowly wake,
    While dreams and nightmares seek the tender touch of delight and despair.

    And in this silent and metaphysical embrace,
    The night reveals its wisdom, pure and true,
    That even in the darkness, there’s a space,
    For bright-and-dim to find its way and gently woo.

    Exquisite brilliance, fleeting as death,
    Yet timeless in the memory it weaves,
    A whisper of eternity, it leaves,
    Echoing in the shadows, where silence breathes.

    So, as the dawn prepares to claim its due,
    Remembrance in the night’s serene expanse,
    The brilliance lingers softly, bright and new,
    A fleeting spark in night’s expansive trance.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • In The Stillness Of The Night

    In The Stillness Of The Night

    In the stillness of the night,
    Murmurs stir in spectral light.
    Moonlight weaves through shadowed trees,
    Casting phantoms in the breeze.

    A faint sound, barely heard,
    Echo is like a ghostly word.
    Fog creeps low upon the ground,
    Silent secrets, none profound.

    Graves stand guard in solemn rows,
    Beneath them, tales of sorrow flow.
    Marble cold and weathered grey,
    Hides the regrets of yesterday.

    Raven’s caw, a haunting cry,
    Pierces through the midnight sky.
    Wings as dark as most bottomless voids,
    On cursed winds, the air devoid.

    In the forest, shadows play,
    Dancing where the moonbeams stray.
    Eyes that gleam with hidden spite,
    Glimmer in the pitch of the night.

    An old house, a forgotten place,
    Windows stares with a hollow face.
    Doors that creak in mournful sighs,
    Shelter memories that won’t die.

    Candles flicker in the gloom,
    Fighting darkness that they loom.
    Ancient clocks tick slowly and fast,
    Counting down to moments past.

    The mirror’s surface, cold and clear,
    Reflects not the living here.
    Figures move when none are near,
    Silent screams you cannot hear.

    Steps that lead to nowhere known,
    Winding paths of moss and stone.
    Ghostly forms that roam and rove,
    Searching for what they once called home.

    In the distance, bells toll low,
    Marking time where none can go.
    Each chime a whisper, soft and thin,
    Inviting all the shadows in.

    And as the night claims all in sight,
    Darkness reigns with quiet might.
    In this realm where fear holds sway,
    Eternity and night will stay.

    So heed the warnings, keep them near,
    For the night holds more than fear.
    In the depths where shadows blend,
    Lies are a place where dreams descend.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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