Magic insolence evoked profane desires,
Blooming in the garden of passion,
When stupor and chaos fed the soil and roots,
Under a cloudy sky deprived of stars.
Arcane dreams devoured the bright lights,
Devoiding the garden of passion with
Whispers of forgotten rites and shadows,
As petals withered, blackened in the night.
The soil became thick with cursed intent,
Breathed out a sigh of ancient grief,
While tangled roots writhed, twisting beneath,
Feeding on darkness, refusing ascent.
No stars to guide, no moon to shine,
Only the heft of silent doom,
As ghostly winds stirred the gloom,
The garden lay as time resigned.
The aura itself seemed enthralled by dread,
A spell unspoken lingered still,
Bound to the earth with haunting will,
Where only a magic insolence and madness dared to tread.
The trees stood twisted, gaunt and bare,
Their branches claws in the murky air.
Each leaf that fell was a silent cry,
A prayer was unanswered beneath the sky.
The whispers grew louder, fierce and cold,
Echoing tales of secrets untold.
A dance of shadows began to weave,
Between the tombstones of those who grieve.
The flowers, once vibrant with lustrous hue,
Now seeped with sorrow, soaked in blood and dew.
Their beauty lost in the endless night,
A memory fading, devoured by blight.
And in the heart of this cursed domain,
Where once passion thrived, now only pain,
A wraith emerged from the creeping dark,
Magic insolence entrapped everything with a mystical spark.
With a vacant stare, it gazed in despair,
Bound forever to the garden’s snare.
A prisoner to the magic’s cost,
In this garden where all was lost.
The wind moaned softly, a mournful plea,
For the magic of insolence would never release what could never be free,
As the cursed garden stretched its roots,
To claim the souls of shattered fruits.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
