Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: sorrowful

  • Victimised By My Desires

    Victimised By My Desires

    Victimised by my desires and love
    I try to detach from my heart’s impulses
    But it is useless because I am chained completely
    Like a prey of my own longings, craving for my soul

    I keep believing in my dreams and impossible chimeras
    Never breaking the chain of my own distress
    Trusting love and its cruel games
    A realm of beauty and deception

    Victimised by my desires and obsessions
    I get lost in my dreams where I feel safe and protected
    And I sing my song of love and self-destruction
    As a way to cast a spell over myself over and over again

    Alive and dead
    Happy and sad
    I fade away into the darkness of my life
    Becoming a victim of my emotions and weakness

    Every time that my dreams whisper lies to me
    I feel euphoric and powerful as I’m destined to a perpetual merriment
    Instead, I fall into the profound abyss of misery
    Where I compassionately cry crystal teardrops

    I never stop sighing in this valley of desolation
    As I’m permanently condemned to wander endlessly with no destination
    As I’m permanently condemned to never find peace in my innermost spirit

    Seized by cobwebs of love and impossibilities
    Abducted into secret alcoves of empty vows
    I surmise that my own delusions are real, mistaking them for truths
    And see only exquisite beauty in this world because I want to believe so

    In my dark chamber, I cry and sigh
    In my secret niche, I embrace oblivion
    Aware that nobody, absolutely nobody, thinks about me
    In this senseless existence, deprived of empathy

    Forlorn and disenchanted, I wait for the true love
    Although I’m sure I can feel it, and I can see it as a beautiful vision
    As I’m very foolish and ingenue, losing easily control of my feelings
    And I’m glad to fall into the trap of my longings
    And I’m delighted that I’m victimised by my desires.
    Elisabetta

  • The Shadowed Passage

    The Shadowed Passage

    The shadowed passage rested at the heart of a forgotten manor,
    Past the majestic hall and beneath the stairs,
    Where time had left its mark in cold and dark layers,
    Thick with decay and secrets, it bore.

    A single candle’s dim light flickered,
    Casting grotesque shapes upon the ornate walls,
    Forms that moved and twisted eerily,
    With a life of their own in the shadows’ thrall.

    As one ventured deeper, chills gripped the bones,
    The oppressive silence was broken by a drip,
    The uneven floor, worn smooth by countless feet,
    Whispers rose like cold breath to nip.

    In the heart of the passage loomed a door,
    Marred by scratches from desperate attempts to flee,
    Pushing it open revealed a small, dark room,
    Dusty shelves and a chair facing the dark sea.

    From the depths of shadows, a figure emerged,
    More an absence of light than a form,
    Gliding silently with eerie grace,
    Its face was shown briefly with sorrow forlorn.

    Suddenly, the door slammed shut,
    The candle’s light extinguished in the obscurity,
    The whispers crescendoed into a cacophony,
    The figure reached out, and then it all went slack.

    The noise ceased as quickly as it had begun,
    The room remained empty save for a faint, eerie trace,
    The passage, once silent and foreboding,
    Now hummed with echoes of a haunting embrace.

    A chill swept through the manor’s very bones,
    As if the walls themselves were breathing deep,
    Ancient echoes as remembrances of forgotten moans,
    In the shadows where the restless spirits slept.

    The ceiling’s beams, aged and cracked, groaned faintly,
    Their weight seemed almost unbearable,
    Casting elongated, spectral and unsettling shades,
    A spectacle of the eerily intangible.

    In the far corner, a mirror stood covered in dust and fear,
    Reflecting only darkness and fading light,
    Its glass was a gateway to another time,
    Where memories twisted in the heart of each night.

    Steps lingered in the silence, slow and measured,
    Each echo was a relic of the passage’s curse,
    A place where past and present were forever tethered,
    A labyrinth of sighs, haunted and immersed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Forgotten Theatre

    The Forgotten Theatre

    The forgotten theatre was hidden in the heart of the old city,
    Nestled between towering buildings,
    Once a grand beacon, now forsaken,
    Crumbled and cloaked in ivy’s embrace.

    Once grand, now dust and vine,
    Ornate facade hidden away,
    Marquee unlit, letters faded,
    Abandoned, haunting in dismay.

    Legends whispered of a night,
    A performance at the height of its fervour, tragic,
    Flames consumed with terrifying speed,
    Trapped souls in a fiery magic.

    Spirits bound to the stage,
    Their untimely demise,
    Haunting the theatre still,
    In ghostly, sorrowful cries.

    Interior, a labyrinth of decay,
    Air thick with dust and mildew,
    Floorboards creaked ominously,
    A grand chandelier in a webbed hue.

    Red velvet seats faded and torn,
    Once plush, now mould and rot,
    An opulent auditorium,
    In neglect, long forgotten.

    The charred stage, a sombre reminder,
    The backdrop faded and torn,
    Orchestra pit, a dark void,
    Instruments broken, forlorn.

    At night, the theatre came to life,
    Faint music filled the halls,
    Shadows of performers flitted,
    Ghostly symphony echoed calls.

    Empty seats held ghostly spectators,
    Faces pale, gaunt in despair,
    Disembodied voices and laughter,
    A crowd was no longer there.

    A woman in a tattered costume,
    Face streaked with soot and tears,
    Wandered halls in deep sorrow,
    Searching through the years.

    Backstage, narrow corridors,
    Dressing rooms were silent and cold,
    Mirrors cracked and tarnished,
    Reflections of stories untold.

    Costumes hung in tatters,
    Colours faded with age,
    The lingering scent of smoke,
    Haunting every stage.

    At dawn, the ghostly faded,
    The theatre fell silent anew,
    Chandelier, charred stage, empty seats,
    Witnesses to tragedy’s rue.

    Spirits bound to the theatre,
    In restless slumber, they lay,
    Waiting for the night to awaken,
    To haunt, to dance, to play.

    A testament to sorrow’s power,
    The forgotten theatre stands,
    Spirits perform in ghostly hours,
    A nighttime can’t erase demands.

    The city moved on, bustling streets,
    In contrast to the eerie presence,
    Past and present intertwined,
    In shadows, whispers, and essence.
    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

  • Blissful Anguish In The Daily Light

    Blissful Anguish In The Daily Light

    Blissful anguish in the daily light
    Waiting no longer
    Life seems like a dream that will break
    Many things belonging to love always end
    From a life filled with sorrow and bliss
    Time ended everything
    And happiness faded away
    How could I feel hope and fear without a soul
    Being my heart a fragment of despair and desire
    Coping the frightful pain stabbing my soul
    When I stare at my reflection on a white wall
    As it would be another me waiting for my end

    Blissful anguish in the daily light
    The silent darkness is whispering secrets
    I’m mute because that is how I live
    Invisible and speechless
    As a constant ghost would check my state of mind
    I might be fearful, but I am not
    My soul has never seen the present
    Being bonded between the past and the future
    Its arrival and its flow
    It shall lead to new things to come
    Hope begins once again
    Until it is crushed into pieces

    Blissful anguish in the daily light
    The truth does not halt in the fall
    I live with wonder
    When there is no need to hide
    Love might give eternal light
    Existence becomes free of grace
    And everything becomes blind
    My thoughts glow above my eyes
    In a perpetual chase for limited emotions
    My mind’s endless glare overcomes me again
    In every moment, a life is born
    A beauty that will be

    Blissful anguish in the daily light
    Losing parts of myself
    The hushed tears of misery
    So brave and free is my mind
    I dare not make a new choice
    For without any joy
    Life is powerful as truth
    When a heart is full of sorrow
    And sorrow goes with it
    Then the soul can be sensed within it
    A sorrowful bliss and unexpected transformation flow down through the darkness
    In dreams, I never die for
    Until I stand there all alone.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Subliminal Paresis Of My Soul

    The Subliminal Paresis Of My Soul

    The subliminal paresis of my soul
    Oblivion is the poesy of mind
    Vanity and treasures are the paroxysms of nullity
    I began to strive for my hopeless dreams
    Without any intention of conquest
    Disconnected from useless inquiry
    Disintegrated is my soul
    Split in multiple fragments
    In a life hanging by a thread
    The hallucinations devastate me
    Falling into a sunken world
    With the purpose of spoiling every hope of mine
    Transforming constantly into some new shape
    Like an amorphous entity

    The subliminal paresis of my soul
    Shrinking in an unloveable world
    I never felt so nonsensical and translucent
    Like the death inside space
    The universe’s beauty is an image of my thoughts and beliefs
    My spiritual visions are a reflection of the dimness of my imagination
    Nothing but the wisdom of emptiness in the eternity
    Without any proper understanding of the occurrences will happen
    In the needlessness of lives
    Many exquisite moments and memories are forgotten forever
    I will become unknown as I never existed
    Forsaken in a mean destiny
    Time continues to fail inquisitively serene
    Rejecting the day’s eternal night

    The subliminal paresis of my soul
    The blinking of the time passing incessantly
    There is no reason I would not suffer indifference
    Though my mind is pure as well as my heart
    I will always mourn the mediocrity of the material objectification
    That should be a secret of mine
    But I will always express myself until I breathe at the very last
    The truth could be the world’s treasure rather than a shameful blame
    Not too smart enough to sugarcoat the horrid and havoc
    At the end of the eternity
    I will never get lost in another’s perspectives
    As I am changeless and immutable in my perpetual unpredictable disposition
    Nothingness and void are my welcomed companions
    In the darkness of the nights
    When the silence hushes my breath, I shut my eyes, sorrowful.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah