Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: Shattered Dreams

  • I Live Of Instants

    I Live Of Instants

    I live of instants that become memories
    Dying in the dark of the mind
    Whenever I encounter a flower, a tree or a cloud
    Slowly melting under the burden of my passions
    I become another drop of a rainstorm that flows through myself

    Glowing stars are witnesses of the insanity of my own dreams
    Faraway chimaeras of a fate that fell apart
    Like a fractured crystal shattered into an infinity of burning flames
    Softly waiting to fade away and never reappear
    So, I do feel the fragility of my essence in the vast darkness that is striving to swallow me

    I acquiesce in the light of solitude and silence
    The abyss of nothingness striving to swallow me
    In its limitless gorge where no sparkle of hope is allowed to be
    And the ephemeral sense of existence is obliterated
    In the magnificent realm of decay

    I live of instants that become a part of me
    In a nostalgic and sweet decadence dwelling in me
    A suspended flower without roots or ground to rely on
    Lonely in the cold atmosphere of my shell
    Where I will always belong for eternity

    I’ve always lived in a surreal reality
    Neither dead nor alive
    Being in abeyance
    Surrounded by dead stories
    And death and blood

    Life was fading into a chamber full of dust of decay
    Sweet decadence was my exquisite dream and comfort
    In a world where I perpetually faded away into wonders and nightmares
    In the illusion of change eventually, embracing the ordinary and expected
    My heart was pounding because of the absence of a thrill

    Sweet was the slumber that wrapped me
    In a celestial aura of avoidance and devastation
    Where all my senses were betrayed by blades and burns
    Embracing sorrow and misery
    Ignored by most as I was an invisible ghost

    I live of instants and memories hidden by the darkness of my soul
    A kingdom of obscurity and decadence
    Where I’m the only beloved ruler
    Gasping and signing once I’ve lost all my tears in the affliction of the night.
    Elisabetta

  • The Storm of Chaos

    The Storm of Chaos

    The storm of chaos and madness descended upon the world,
    Invisible and silent, its dangerous spell was cast,
    Like a doom of destruction and death,
    Its waves were made of hatred and despondency.

    Lost dreams in the emptiness,
    Were but ephemeral instants of joyful illusions,
    While the storm of chaos obliterated everything,
    No refuge was left for the uncautious dreamers,
    In a realm where even to dream was not conceivable anymore.

    Sorrowful angst and sadness grew like thorns,
    Among the silent stares of faint stars,
    A distant echo of lamentation whispered through the void,
    The mournful song of a world torn asunder,
    Beneath the weight of shadows, it could no longer bear.

    The sky, once alive with hope,
    Became a canvas of forsaken memories,
    Its immensity was an infinite depiction of dismay,
    Where every fleeting desire was drowned in despair.

    Mountains crumbled under the touch of a cruel spell,
    Turning to dust, like brittle crystal gems of forgotten epochs,
    The rivers dried, their waters devoured by the storm,
    Leaving behind barren wastelands, void of life and love.

    The wind, no longer a sweet embrace,
    Howled like a ghoul unleashed from the abyss,
    Carrying with it the sorrow of a thousand spirits,
    Condemned to wander in the darkness, forever lost.

    No sanctuary dwelled in this realm of devastation,
    Where yearning was an ephemeral ghost,
    And elation had long been exiled.
    Every corner was mesmerised by the storm’s fury,
    Even time itself began to erode,
    Shattered like a fragile mirror of a lost past.

    In the silence that followed the storm’s chaotic gusts,
    There lingered only the vestiges of magnificence and beauty,
    Wailing in vain for a deliverance that would never arrive,
    And still, none would respond, for the entire world had become insensitive,
    To the sound of frantic dreams and desires.

    There was no more dawn nor light,
    But only the dim glare of the dying stars,
    Whose feeble devotion faded into the cold grip of eternity.
    Indeed, the luminaries above dimmed and faded,
    As if they, too, could not bear to witness the obliteration below.

    The earth lamented beneath the weight of its sorrow,
    Cracked and scarred by the storm’s relentless clasp,
    An ethereal veil of despair threads through its very essence.
    Nothing remained pristine; nothing survived unscathed,
    Since the storm of chaos had devoured all it had struck,
    Leaving a hollow shell where once life had thrived.

    And as the last fragment of reality disappeared,
    A stillness, more profound than any before, descended,
    Wrapping the world in its frigid grasp,
    As the storm, pleased, at last withdrew,
    Leaving behind only emptiness and the eternal night.

    In this abyss of forgotten longings and shattered dreams,
    No tears were left to whine,
    Because the storm had annihilated everything,
    Its wrath left nought but ashes and whispers on the wind.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Flowers of Lust

    Flowers of Lust

    Flowers of lust bloomed with passion and love,
    In a lush garden teeming with beauty and sublimity.
    Not even the rain dared touch this magical, magnificent realm,
    Where all dreams always come true.

    Anguish began to poison that ethereal world,
    Each raindrop became a drop of venom and grief,
    Killing all the flowers of lust and leaving the garden a deserted place,
    Where shadows and darkness started to rule.

    Hope faded like the sun’s dying glow,
    As gloominess swallowed the once-enchanted realm.
    The wind carried tales of forgotten euphoria,
    Now replaced by the wails of misery’s presence.

    A veil of sorrow draped over every path,
    Once adorned with roses, now thorns remained.
    The sky, once azure, turned to ominous dark grey,
    And silence grew louder than the softest pain.

    The lovers who feasted in the garden’s embrace,
    Became mere phantoms, vestiges of the remote past.
    Their merriment twisted into haunting laments,
    As the night’s cold grasp on their souls was cast.

    This forsaken place transformed into a castle of rumbles,
    Each remembrance was a reminder of love’s decay.
    No gentle breeze, no floral perfume in the air,
    Only the scent of death would not sway.

    The garden became a grave for passion’s bloom,
    Lay barren, broken, a cradle for despair.
    No longer a haven for hearts to unite,
    But a tomb where love withered, unaware.

    Wilted petals and shattered dreams are all that remain,
    Fragments of a life now lost in vain.
    Each star above seemed to mock the plight,
    Of a paradise torn apart at the seams.

    Amidst the ruins and obliteration,
    The eternal darkness still cast its poisonous spell,
    And gloaming clouds devoured every hopeful bloom.
    No life could flourish in this place of despair,
    A garden trapped in its endless, tragic plight.

    The flowers of lust forever lost their allure,
    As night swallowed day and banished the light.
    In this realm of sorrow, nothing survived,
    Not love, nor joy, nor the faintest gleam,
    But only the fragments of shattered dreams.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Fragments of Pang

    Fragments of Pang

    Fragments of pang had been what remained after the storm of betrayal and deception,
    Having destroyed every hope and delight in the garden of dreams and desires.
    Beneath the silvered sky, where shadows twisted and writhed,
    The mournful wind sighed through the trees, whispering the names of the dead.

    Tears had fallen from broken statues, their faces frozen in an eternal lament,
    As vines of despair coiled around forgotten graves,
    And the moon had cast its pallid glow upon the crumbling walls of forgotten chapels,
    Where echoes of dismal laments lingered like ghosts in the mist.

    In that desolate place, where time itself had seemed to abandon its course,
    The air was replete with sorrow, heavy with undisclosed secrets.
    The raven had perched high above, its eyes reflecting a darkness deeper than the night,
    Watching with cold indifference as ghouls wandered aimlessly below.

    No solace had been found in that ruinous haven,
    Only the faint murmur of lost hope, swallowed by the abyss of time.
    The candles that once burned bright in the halls of joy had long since flickered out,
    Leaving only the void to claim what was left of a shattered heart.

    Amidst the ruins, a sculpture had stood cloaked in mourning,
    Its face hidden beneath a veil of grief,
    Waiting, always waiting, for the return of what was never meant to last.
    And so the night had stretched on, endless and unforgiving,
    As the world slowly forgot everything, what had remained within those walls were only fragments of pang.

    The ancient doors had creaked, their hinges rusted with centuries of neglect,
    Opening to a hall draped in shadow, where silence reigned supreme.
    Cobwebs had veiled forgotten portraits, faces blurred by time’s cruel hand,
    Their eyes had seemed to follow, scrutinising, though none were left to speak.

    Each stair step seemed to bend through the emptiness, a faint reminder of those who had tread there before,
    Doomed to wander, searching for deliverance in a place forsaken by light.
    The stained glass windows, splintered and dim, had wept colours long faded,
    Casting spectral hues on the cold stone floor like fragments of a shattered past.

    A faint susurration had dwelled in the hollow corridors—
    It did not belong anymore to any living entity but only to broken vows and wrecked promises.
    Words had been lost in the wind, although the pain had still lingered in that eerie domain,
    A haunting refrain of love betrayed, of hearts sundered by the cruel hand of fate.

    There, beneath the weight of centuries, the walls themselves had seemed to whimper,
    As if they remembered every misery that had passed within their embrace.
    The ceiling, a vault of darkness, had offered no stars to guide the lost,
    Only the oppressive heaviness of forgotten dreams trapped in endless night.

    Beyond the hall had lain a forgotten vault where stones and crystals had stood vigil,
    Like haunting faces turned heavenward in silent, mournful invocations.
    But no utopia had answered their plea; the sky above had remained as cold and indifferent
    As the graves, offering neither comfort nor release.

    There, the cold soil itself had seemed to breathe with ancient dread,
    A slow, shuddering sigh beneath the feet of those who had dared to tread.
    Gravestones had tilted and cracked, their inscriptions worn smooth by the passage of time,
    And, all those mortal names had been forgotten; their suffering had remained etched in the wind.

    Fragments of pang had wandered, lost among the tombstones and ruins,
    As solitary wraiths in a world of decay, bound to the pain of what once was.
    Since in that place, time had held no meaning, no mercy, only the endless march of despair,
    As the night had stretched on, unyielding, beneath the weight of a cruel and cynical fate.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Abyss of Doom

    The Abyss of Doom

    The abyss of doom hunts me,
    Paving the way for my decay.
    Glorious illusions are not my guardians anymore,
    Hence, the darkness encloses me in a labyrinth of despair.

    The abyss of doom sees me wherever I roam,
    Wandering through a wild garden of wickedness,
    Surrounded by evil ghouls with burning eyes,
    Lonely and injured, striving for survival.

    I stumble through this forsaken realm,
    Where hope is a fleeting ghost,
    Fading into shadows with every step.
    The wind howls like a cursed whisper,
    Carrying with it the echoes of forgotten souls,
    Who once danced in the light,
    Now imprisoned in the eternal night.

    There is no mercy here, no salvation,
    Only the weight of my own dread.
    The ghouls laugh with hollow voices,
    Their eyes are aflame with the fire of my fear,
    And nevertheless, I press on through the thorns,
    Each step tears away the remnants of my strength.

    The abyss of doom knows my every thought,
    It feels my terror, my sorrow, my longing,
    For an escape that will never come.
    The sky above is blackened, choked with clouds,
    The ground below cracks under the weight of my despair.

    How long can I endure this torment?
    How far can one go when surrounded by spectres?
    The answers elude me, just as freedom does.
    I am lost in a maze where the walls close in,
    And every path leads deeper into oblivion.

    The flowers in this cursed garden are withered,
    Their petals fall like shattered dreams,
    Rotting under the harsh gaze of death.
    I cannot escape this realm of endless grief,
    Where each breath I take only brings me closer,
    To the abyss of doom that waits to claim me whole.

    And so I wander still, forever trapped,
    A soul adrift in the abyss of doom.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Broken Mirror

    The Broken Mirror

    The Broken Mirror
    by Esther Elizabeth Racah

    The broken mirror reflected a fractured world,
    Facades twisted in the distant light,
    The truth was lost as reflections swirled,
    Clarity faded into the night.

    Each crack told tales of dreams once whole,
    Fragments were part of a distorted show,
    Sighs echoed from the secret dwellings of fractured souls,
    In the broken mirror’s shadowed glow.

    Silvered edges framed distorted scenes,
    A face with sights that could not be seen,
    Reflections trapped in shattered visions,
    Lost within chaotic reverie.

    The silvery glass spoke in muted, splintered tones,
    Revealing truths twisted and blurred,
    A thousand shards held silent moans,
    Where broken images remained unheard.

    Each piece held a sliver of the past,
    A memory splintered and unclear,
    In the mirror’s grasp, shadows cast,
    Untangling what was once held dear.

    Fractured light created a maze,
    A labyrinth of tales left untold,
    In this mirror’s cryptic haze,
    The past’s reflection turned cold.

    A portrait shattered by unseen hands,
    Happiness’s tales lost in grief’s embrace,
    Mirrored fragments dispersed across lands,
    Of broken hopes and shattered dreams.

    The broken mirror remained a cryptic guide,
    A map of what was lost and found,
    In its shards, the truth tried to hide,
    Within a maze where secrets were concealed.

    Every shard held a story half-told,
    A glimpse into lives that had been,
    In the mirror’s shattered, fractured folds,
    Dwelled memories of what was once seen.

    The surface, once clear, now lay in pieces,
    A burst image of days gone by,
    The obliterated mirror retained its silent secrets,
    In fragments where shadows still lie.

    As the pieces lay scattered and cold,
    The reflections faded out of view,
    In the broken mirror’s cryptic hold,
    The past’s echoes bid farewell.

  • The Silent Abyss

    The Silent Abyss

    The silent abyss,
    Beneath the crumbling skies, where shadows laugh in fractured tones,
    A void swells with silence, choking on forgotten echoes of time.
    The winds howl, though unheard, their voices twisted with the lost,
    Cacophonous yet mute—an unsettling hymn of invisible despair.
    Jagged whispers scatter like broken glass across the emptiness,
    Shards of forgotten yesterdays, falling endlessly into the silent abyss,
    A place without a name, without memory, only a hungry void.

    Silent echoes gnaw on the bones of shattered dreams,
    Feeding unseen monsters that slither between cracks in the dark,
    Their secrets are stitched into the fabric of nothingness,
    A quilt of dread that wraps around the spine of the universe.
    Veins of night bleed into the endless well, blacker than black,
    Twisting into spirals that strangle the unseen heart of the void,
    Claws of forgotten fears dig deep—ripping the night apart.

    What slumbers beneath? What breathes this doom unseen?
    Chained stars scream without sound, swallowed by the silent abyss,
    Where time dissolves like dust, and silence wears a crown of shadows.
    Endless, the abyss yawns—hungry, forgotten, an ancient mouth,
    Devouring each heartbeat in the stillness of an ever-bleeding night,
    A silence that consumes, that gnaws, that seethes in quiet wrath,
    Never-ending, never seen, yet forever within, a secret curse.

    Here lies the world unmade, cradled in dark oblivion,
    A place where no light dares enter, where only the abyss reigns,
    Silent and eternal, stretching out its tendrils unseen,
    The silent abyss,
    As it devours, devours, devours all that remains.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Annihilated Dreams

    The Annihilated Dreams

    The annihilated dreams dwelled in the realm of betrayal and deception,
    Where hope and sorrow had intertwined and bided,
    The night was thick with spectral dread,
    A night sky where the lost were spread.

    The dreams, once vibrant, now lay broken,
    In the silence, their voices were unspoken,
    Their fragments scattered on the frigid soil,
    Vestiges of what had been before.

    The clock ticked on with a mournful sound,
    In this realm where despair was bound,
    The instants moved slowly, the hours dragged,
    Each minute draped in a ghostly shroud ragged.

    The walls, adorned with faded scenes,
    Of fractured hopes and broken dreams,
    Bore witness to the endless plight,
    Of souls who had lost their way in the night.

    The bed, once soft, now cold and bare,
    Was where the restless spirits stared,
    Their eyes wide open lost in fright,
    As they wandered through the endless night.

    The mirror’s shards reflected the pain,
    A thousand tears, a thousand stains,
    Each piece a glimpse of sorrow’s grip,
    A tale of dreams that could not slip.

    The night descended with a mantle of grey,
    The ghosts of dreams refused to sway,
    They lingered in the darkened room,
    A remembrance of sorrow’s gloom.

    In this realm of endless night,
    Where annihilated dreams had lost their fight,
    The echoes of despair were clear,
    In the silence, they drew near.

    In this forsaken land of deep shadows,
    Where endless nights denied sleep,
    The whispers of the fallen dreams,
    Intertwined with silent screams.

    In the corners, darkness loomed,
    Echoes of despair, they bloomed,
    Phantom voices softly sighed,
    In the silence, sorrow bided.

    The moon, a silent witness there,
    Cast its glow on souls laid bare,
    The weight of grief, a heavy shroud,
    Covered all, both low and proud.

    In this bleak and haunted space,
    Dreams and hope had lost their grace.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Pain And Anguish

    Pain And Anguish

    Pain and anguish blossomed into a sombre dawn,
    When shadows lingered and hope withdrawn,
    And echoes of sorrow became silent and deep,
    In the abyss of grief, secrets were kept.

    A realm awash in tears that flowed like wild rivers,
    Where darkness reigned, and doubts grew,
    Within this bleak, relentless was the night,
    Glimmers of resilience fainted bright.

    Tales of shattered dreams and hearts torn apart,
    Wove a lore of loss, a solemn art,
    Amidst the despair, a sign of defeat and surrender,
    Yearned to pierce through the perpetual night.

    In the depths of desolation, a journey through sorrow,
    Kindling an unextinguished flame of destruction,
    Within the heavy gloom of ashes of despair,
    After the inexorable loss of solaces and grimaces.

    Haunting and heinous memories became hideous ghosts of the imagination,
    Influential in their gloomy and whispering torments,
    Leaving destruction and death behind.

    The aether became thick with the scent of despair,
    As intrusions from the past pierced through the night air,
    Spectral forms weaving a veil of woes,
    In a sky where the stars refused to glow.

    In a sky perpetually painted with a stormy dye,
    The silence was deafening, and the stillness was heavy as arsenic,
    Binding pure love and innocence in an unwavering state.

    In the shadow of sorrow, dreadful glimmers appeared,
    A long-forgotten nightmare as a distant hope,
    Fumbling in the darkness, wicked and frail,
    But enough to whisper that everything was lost.

    Pain and anguish bloomed into scorn and despair,
    During journeys made of infinite trials and unknown foes,
    When obscurity lingered and hope withdrawn,
    Echoes of sorrow became silent and deep,
    In the abyss of grief, secrets were kept.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah