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
