Tag: Spectral Figures

  • Under The Spell of Despair

    Under The Spell of Despair

    Under the spell of despair and distress, I fell into a slumber that dragged me to a realm of darkness and madness.

    Disquietude welcomed me like a soft petal falling on the frigid soil soaked with tears and blood in a domain where I had always been a nobody.

    The sound of a storm kept me asleep as I was under a dark spell of pain. Loving to be possessed by an anguish that was piercing and breaking me.

    A sharp blade stroked me just as an affection manifestation of my nightmares, visiting me like haunting spirits, leaving me bleeding my soul out.

    Decadent desires of lust grabbed my body, tearing me apart with their alluring viciousness, leaving me like a crushed rose whose blood stained red all over the garden grass.

    Faraway, wicked echoes of phoney oddities and curiosities claimed me as their biological creature and beloved possession of my early youth. They trampled upon my essence repeatedly until my soul dissolved into nothingness.

    Old forbidden secrets were kept inside my heart like decayed treasures made of rotten fondness. They made me feel like a butterfly without wings and without a name.

    And so, I became nameless and faceless, ensnared under the spell of despair and mortification, revelling in the triumph of decadence and the torment of existence.

    Floundering in the unfathomable depths of an ocean of dreams and illusions, I drifted endlessly, lost within their spectral embrace.

    In the end, I became a crimson blossom, sustained by the moonlight’s ghostly glow and the deception of my obscene dreams.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Magic Spells

    Magic Spells

    Magic spells manifested amid the night of ghosts and witches,
    Whose enchantments lured creatures, hearts and souls,
    In a realm of nowhere, where time stopped long ago.

    Silence and darkness ruled this enchanted world,
    Where the moon and the stars were witnesses to the magnificence of the night,
    In this devil-may-care domain, glooms and ghouls danced with glee.

    Arcane secrets were kept in cold and lifeless trees,
    Whose boughs gnarled and twisted, bearing the consequences of curses and hexes,
    Together with tales of ruin, despair, and broken verses.

    An elixir of ancient magic spells was smeared through the shrouded woods,
    Ethereal spirits roamed, guided by illusions, while searching for a dwelling,
    Wandering without any guidance, lost in the labyrinth of eternity.

    This abyssal lair was not a haven at all,
    Since the only loud noises were sobs of sorrow and the sharp tang of despair,
    While the ground beneath trembled with restless sighs.

    The stars were mourning, hidden in the skies,
    A cauldron bubbled with its fumes reaching high,
    In an eternal void, devouring the light.

    In this realm, sorceresses conjured dreams twisted and dire,
    Stirring the pot with wands of blood and fire,
    While embracing a doomed fate made of dread and shadows.

    In every corner, the void overcame life and hope,
    Keeping the secrets that time could not preserve,
    With every chant, a spell was cast, obliterating the past, the present, and the future.

    The night echoed as a requirement of endless pain,
    While shapes of dread evoked tales of the forgotten dead,
    Mocking the living with their eerie whizz.

    In this chimerical realm of endless plight,
    Desire and love were fleeting and banished lights,
    Since arcane arts tore apart both souls and hearts.

    When the night became a cursed precipice,
    Only an absolute silence rose bleak,
    Lingering like a haunting magic spell and leading to a shadowed hell,
    In this realm of nowhere, all became decay and death under the hex of magic spells.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • A Phantasmagoria of Mystery

    A Phantasmagoria of Mystery

    A phantasmagoria of mystery pervaded the realm of dreams,
    Where delights cast their magic spells,
    Glowing like stars in the infinite darkness,
    The darkness of rationality and consciousness,
    Whose heavy shadows draped over the imagination that dared wander.

    Like warm raindrops falling upon open flower blooms,
    Passions moistened every blossom of roses with their dew of lust,
    Each petal glistening, saturated with feverish desire,
    And in the silent sonata, the blossoms swayed,
    Unfurling to a breeze that whispered forbidden rhymes.

    Oblivion and derealisation welcomed every utopia in this exquisite alcove,
    An alcove of lush gardens veiled in mist,
    Where roses revealed secrets to the midnight sky,
    And the aura, decadent with intoxicating scents,
    Lured dreamers further into hallucinations that could not be resisted.

    In this realm of opulence, reality blurred, dissolving at the edge of darkness,
    Where dawn dared not disturb the exquisite slumber,
    And beneath the star-laden canopy, sweet illusions swirled wildly,
    Weaving dreams with threads of silk and shadows,
    A dance of light and dark, of ecstasy and fervour, entangled forever.

    In the gardens of legends, where phantoms ruled,
    Each shadow became a wraith of lost desires, drifting, unchained,
    Every sigh was heavy with the scent of roses,
    And every heartbeat transformed into an echo, fading into the invisible,
    An imaginary domain where time dissolved, leaving only the eternal dusk.

    A phantasmagoria of mystery happened to be in this enchanted universe,
    Where illusions and falsehoods became reality.
    A bizarre and fantastic scenario where remembrances did not exist anymore,
    And dreams were the irrefutable truth.

    Within this unearthly garden of forbidden reveries,
    Ethereal spectres wove silent trails through the air, invisible.
    Guiding the dreamers and visionaries toward metaphysical revelations,
    Past the boundaries of the known and intelligible.

    The roses, drenched in twilight’s honeyed essence,
    Released their secrets in whispers soft and low,
    As if mourning for a life they’d never lived,
    And petals drifted down like fallen hopes,
    Into pools of ink, where starlight’s glow had ceased.

    Beneath a moon veiled in shadows’ dark embrace,
    Figures waltzed in silence, spectres of delight,
    Invisible, though stirring in every pulse, every heartbeat,
    Moving in time to a song unheard, unfathomable,
    A hymn to worlds that only slumber can comprehend.

    In this phantasmagoric realm, within the depths of the midnight veil,
    Where dawn was but a distant tale, lost,
    The dreamers sank deeper, surrendering entirely,
    To realms beyond the reach of morning’s light,
    Forever wandering in the labyrinth of dusk.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Fright and Horror

    Fright and Horror

    Fright and horror ruled the night,
    Within that house of crumbling stone,
    Where shadows swirled with dread and fright,
    And chilling whispers, all alone.

    The hearth, once warm, now cold and still,
    Had seen the darkened spirits roam,
    Their blast a chill, their presence ill,
    Made mortal hearts a haunted home.

    In faded tapestries of old,
    Where spectral eyes gazed from their frame,
    Fright and horror did unfold,
    Their stare was a harbinger of shame.

    Through moonlit panes and misty gloom,
    A figure roamed with spectral grace,
    Its eyes aglow, a foreboding doom,
    Its silent steps a grim embrace.

    Fright and horror held their sway,
    As echoes moaned through hollow halls,
    Where time and dread had lost their way,
    And shadows clung to ancient walls.

    In every scrape, in every groan,
    A tale of fear was sharply drawn,
    Where once was light, now dark is sown,
    And glimmer’s truth is nearly gone.

    A portrait hung of mournful hue,
    Its subject lost, a fate unknown,
    Fright and horror to the few
    Who dared to tread where spirits sobbed.

    The house, now left in deep darkness,
    Tales of its terror plagued,
    Panic and anguish in restless sleep,
    Tormented the realm where darkness ruled.

    Fright and horror wove their spell,
    In labyrinths of endless gloom,
    Where every corner hid a legend
    Of sorrow sealed within each chamber.

    No light could pierce the shrouded veil,
    No sound could chase the spectral dread,
    Since in its chasms, the horror has passed
    Bounding every soul that dared be led.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Deadly Delights

    Deadly Delights

    Deadly delights had lingered in the abyss of shadows,
    In a mansion where traces of darkness were indelible.
    Chandeliers had hung low like tears of despair,
    Casting spectral glimmers through the still and stagnant air.

    The ballroom, once vibrant with delights and proms,
    Hosted relics of mournful romances.
    The once bright mosaic floor, alive with jest and joyful embrace,
    Now held the cold silence of an abandoned place.

    Each mirror, tarnished by the passage of years,
    Not anymore reflected joy but only spectral rips.
    Ghostly figures had waltzed in the chasms of the night,
    Their presence became a blur in the pale and waning light.

    Deadly delights hid behind walls adorned with portraits of faded grace,
    Had kept sights that stared with a mournful trace.
    Their gazes, hollow, had spoken of unrevealed secrets,
    Of mysteries that had faded away, turning into a bitter and cold breeze.

    In the antique library, where dust had cloaked every ancient tome,
    Archaic books had whispered of dark and forbidden spells.
    Their brittle pages had held tales of despair,
    Of pleasures twisted in the deadly stillness of the ambience.

    A grand piano, now covered in dust,
    Had once sung the passage of time.
    Its keys, now silent, had borne the weight of decay,
    Echoing the past where the dead dared to play.

    Deadly delights overwhelmed the gloomy garden, where roses had once bloomed red,
    The fragrance of death had lingered like a spectral spread.
    Petals, now blackened, had lain scattered in the cold,
    A witness of delights that had grown decrepit.

    The mansion had endured the grip of the darkness,
    A realm where delights had succumbed to fright.
    In its dim halls, where the past held sway,
    The fragments of deadly delights had silently fallen into the void.

    Creeping ivy had wound through the darkened halls,
    As the past’s grim shadows stirred on the walls.
    The giggles of euphoria had turned to frigid cries,
    In the mansion where faded elation mourned its dreams.
    Deadly delights, a lore to never be disclosed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Lost Ritual

    The Lost Ritual

    The lost ritual beneath a blood-red and mournful sky,
    Where ancient runes were cast,
    A ritual’s dark secrets lay,
    In shadows of the past.

    The moon hung low, its crimson glow,
    Illuminated the scene,
    Where symbols formed a mystic show,
    In spectral, eerie sheen.

    The circle drawn in midnight’s gloom,
    With symbols strange and old,
    Invoked the spirits from their tomb,
    Their whispers were dark and cold.

    In the heart of an ancient grove,
    The lost ritual unfolded,
    With chants that stirred the winds and roved,
    And tales that darkness held.

    The air grew thick with foreboding,
    As omens twisted and wound,
    A prophecy of dark foreboding,
    Where light and shadow blended.

    A blood moon’s gaze upon the rite,
    Its hue of foreboding red,
    Revealed a glimpse of eternal night,
    And shadows of the dead.

    The rite concluded, the silence deep,
    Yet echoes ever stayed,
    The darkened prophecy to keep,
    And haunt the coming day.

    In cryptic whispers and forgotten lore,
    The lost ritual’s secrets dwelled,
    A dark omen forevermore,
    In shadows’ ghostly spell.

    Deeper still, the grove concealed,
    A power dark and dread,
    As ancient as the earth revealed,
    The secrets of the dead.

    The winds now howled with mournful cries,
    The trees began to sway,
    Beneath the crimson, bleeding skies,
    The spirits came to play.

    The ground was marked with ash and bone,
    A vestige of yore,
    Where shadows danced, and phantoms moaned,
    On this accursed floor.

    The chants grew louder, fervent, wild,
    A chorus of despair,
    As if the very night defiled,
    The sacred, tainted air.

    With each incantation spoken,
    The darkness grew near,
    A seal of fate was now unbroken,
    Revealing untold fear.

    The lanterns flickered, casting shapes,
    Of long-lost souls in plight,
    Their spectral forms in twisted capes,
    Amid the blood-red light.

    The final words, a piercing scream,
    That echoed through the night,
    Awakened all the ancient dreams,
    Of sorrow, pain, and fright.

    The grove now stood in silence,
    The lost ritual at an end,
    Yet in the air, a presence,
    That time would never mend.

    For those who trod this haunted path,
    Beware the curse it kept,
    The ritual’s dark, abiding wrath,
    Within the shadows crept.

    The lost ritual beneath the sky,
    Where moon and shadows blended,
    Would ever haunt the passerby,
    Until the very end.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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