Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: Spectral Figure

  • The Weaver’s Grip

    The Weaver’s Grip

    The weaver’s grip blotted beneath the twilight’s fading wind,
    Where shadows crept, and twilight waned,
    The threads of fate entwined with death,
    And bound mortals fast in iron chains.

    The mansion stood tall in cold decay,
    Its halls whispered of lost despair,
    Each step a dirge, each stone a grave,
    The spectre’s voice was in the air.

    Through shattered panes, the wind did moan,
    A cry that chilled the very bone,
    It beckoner all to face their doom,
    And follow to the dark unknown.

    A figure draped in sable mist,
    Emerged from the profound gloom,
    Its fingers twisted with cruel intent,
    As threads of fate enwrapped the ground.

    “You cannot flee; you cannot hide,”
    It whispered low, a hollow tone,
    “For every path shall soon collide,
    And meet beneath my wretched throne.”

    The graves beyond the mansion’s gate,
    Stood sentinel in spectral rows,
    Their names erased, their fates long sealed,
    By hands, no mortal ever knew.

    For here, where fate and death entwined,
    No plea for mercy shall be heard,
    The weaver’s grip was tight and soft,
    Its loom of darkness was undeterred.

    Each soul was bound by slender strands,
    That guided them to their silent rest,
    The labyrinth of life’s decrees,
    Converged in the heart’s unrest.

    The fog thickened, the moon grew pale,
    The atmosphere rose hefty with despair,
    The mansion faded, a fleeting veil,
    And all was lost within its snare.

    Indeed, those spirits who walk alone must heed,
    The weaver’s grip will find them ready to be misled,
    For fate’s embrace is carved in stone,
    And none may stay unchanged, forever alone.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Bride of Night

    The Bride of Night

    The bride of night hid beneath the veil of an endless night,
    A castle loomed in the dying light,
    Its spires clawing the storm-torn sky,
    Where whispers of forgotten souls still cry.

    The moon, a phantom, pale and weak,
    Hanged in the sky, too cold to speak,
    Its silver gaze fell hard on stone,
    Where shadows gathered, dark and alone.

    The wind it moaned through hollow halls,
    Brushing against the ancient walls,
    Each corner filled with a chilling dread,
    A monument to the long-lost dead.

    Within, a figure roamed the gloom,
    A spectre bound to eternal doom,
    Her eyes, once bright, were hollowed now,
    A crown of sorrow upon her brow.

    She wandered through forgotten rooms,
    Her footsteps were lost in the echoing tombs,
    Searching for a love long passed,
    A memory that time could never cast.

    The candles flickered, faded, and died,
    As shadows danced and serpents lay,
    While silence reigned in its darkest form,
    And dread became the only norm.

    In this castle, time froze still,
    A kingdom lost to an ancient will,
    Where love and hope had long decayed,
    And only shadows in sorrow stayed.

    So here she lingered, bound by fate,
    In this eternal, cursed estate,
    The queen of grief, the bride of night,
    Forever lost in endless blight.

    Her voice, a whisper carried by the wind,
    Calls out for a lover that fate rescinded.
    But the cold, dead halls returned no sound,
    Only silence reigned supreme where grief was crowned.

    The raven watched from its perch on high,
    A witness to the mournful sky,
    While the castle walls decayed and broke,
    As time devoured, all love’s mistakes.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Eternal Mourning

    The Eternal Mourning

    The eternal mourning ruled through the mist,
    Where an eerie chapel stood,
    In barren lands of forgotten names,
    Its windows wept with shattered glass,
    As time drifted by, yet never passed.

    The bell, once vibrant, was now silent and cold,
    But it echoed faintly with lingering souls,
    Who wandered through this hallowed ground,
    In silence where no peace could have been found.

    The graves, untended, cracked and bare,
    Hold names erased by time’s cruel air,
    And ivy crawled like fingers cold,
    Around the stones where death took hold.

    A shadow moved among the tombs,
    A bride in black with eyes like moons,
    Her veil, a shroud of endless grief,
    Her heart was forever without relief.

    She searched for the one she had lost,
    Her love was consumed by death’s harsh frost.
    In this eternal mourning, with every step, the earth sighed low,
    A dirge for those who’ll never know.

    Her tears fell softly on the stone,
    For here she walked, forever alone,
    Bound to this mournful, endless night,
    A ghost within the pale moonlight.

    No prayers will ever reach this land so cursed,
    No love reborn, no life reversed,
    And as she trod this path of sorrow,
    A journey where the sun will never greet tomorrow.

    The chapel whispered of faded vows,
    Of love turned ash beneath the boughs.
    A raven perched on a cross,
    A silent watcher of her loss.

    She lingered where the shadows crept,
    In search of dreams that death will forever keep,
    Eternally bound, her heart enchained,
    A ghost of the dark profaned.

    The roses, once red, became black as night,
    Their petals crushed beneath her flight.
    In endless circles, she will roam,
    This graveyard of her heart, her home.

    The stars were blind, the moon had fled,
    For in this eternal mourning, the living walked with the dead.
    And she, a bride without a groom,
    Wandered still through this eternal gloom.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Darkness By The Sea

    Darkness By The Sea

    Darkness by the sea, the moon’s silver light cast a glow on the restless waves,
    Revealing the shadowed abyss where lay buried the deep ocean caves.
    A lighthouse stood as a lone sentinel, its beam weak and frail,
    Battling against the overwhelming, vast night and the whispering gale.

    The sea breathed out ancient secrets from chasms far below,
    Where creatures long forgotten in shadowy depths did grow.
    They muttered of shipwrecks, of sailors who were long lost,
    Of pacts with sinister devils and the terrible, heavy cost.

    On storm-laden nights when the sky split violently with blinding light,
    The sea revealed its raw fury, its boundless power, its dreadful might.
    Waves crashed like thunderous roars, tearing relentlessly at the shore,
    Unveiling the skeletal remains of the drowned, surfacing once more.

    A spectral figure emerged from the mist-laden, eerie gloom,
    A sailor, long dead, had risen from his long-forgotten doom.
    His eyes, hollow sockets, reflected the cold moon’s pale gleam,
    His voice was a chilling whisper, a wraith’s unsettling dream.

    His spectral voice softly sighed a warning of the sea’s haunting call,
    Luring with deceptive beauty that belied its darkened lies.
    He followed its siren song, its glittering promise of gold,
    Now he wandered the edges of its shores, his mournful story retold.

    The darkness by the sea held memories deeply steeped,
    Of lives that were taken, of secrets that silently seeped.
    Each wave was a haunting whisper, each tide was a sorrowful tear,
    From the restless souls of the lost who lingered far too near.

    Such were the dark tales that the vast ocean did keep,
    Of the restless spirits who wandered, of those who could not sleep.
    For the sea, in its eerie beauty, with its tempestuous glee,
    Held a darkness as deep as the abyss of the darkest sea.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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