Esther Racah Writer & Literary Blogger

Tag: spirits

  • The Veil Of An Old Mill

    The Veil Of An Old Mill

    The veil of an old mill creaked with age-old strain,
    Its wheels no longer turned in light,
    Silent then, the gears refrained,
    From whirring through the endless night.

    The river’s edge was overgrown,
    With tangled weeds and mossy grey,
    And in the stillness, whispers droned,
    Of lives long lost and slipped away.

    The shadows in the windows loomed,
    Their outlines blurred in spectral hue,
    A faded light, a musty gloom,
    Where time had etched its darkened view.

    The mill’s dark loft, a hidden place,
    Where time and dust had left their mark,
    Held secrets veiled in darkened space,
    And echoes from a past gone dark.

    Beneath the beams, the dust lay thick,
    With traces of forgotten lore,
    A murmur there, a shiver quick,
    Of tales that haunted the old mill’s floor.

    The wheelhouse was then empty, bare,
    Yet something stirred within the deep,
    A restless breath hung in the air,
    Where ancient sorrows lay asleep.

    In a moonlit haze, the spirits danced,
    Around the mill’s forsaken heart,
    Their steps a spectral, mournful trance,
    That shadows in the night imparted.

    And though the mill was still and cold,
    Its heart still beated with ghostly grace,
    The veil of time was dark and old,
    Yet whispers haunted its hollow space.

    The creaking timbers groaned and moaned,
    As if they held a mournful tale,
    With each gust of wind, a spectral groan,
    Each creak, a whisper of the pale.

    The empty gears and rusted chains,
    Now silent in their ancient sorrow,
    Spoke of labour lost in vain,
    And ghosts that lingered through the morrow.

    The old mill’s walls were etched with dirt,
    A canvas of the ages past,
    Each crack and stain, a mark of time,
    Where shadows of the lost were cast.

    The echoes of the past remained,
    In every corner, every seam,
    A place where sorrow’s ghosts sustained,
    And shadows wove their haunting dream.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Beneath The Hollow Tree

    Beneath The Hollow Tree

    Beneath the hollow tree’s dark crown,
    Where twisted branches reached the sky,
    A whisper rustled softly down,
    From roots that mourned and never died.

    The earth around was cold and still,
    Where mournful spectres tended the ground,
    An ancient silence dreaded to fill,
    A world where lost souls were unbound.

    The gnarled trunk, both wise and worn,
    Held tales of curses, bittersweet,
    Of dreams lost and desires forlorn,
    And echoes from the roots’ deceit.

    A hollow wind began to weave,
    Through branches bent in sorrow’s plea,
    A ghostly sigh, a spirit’s grieve,
    That lingered in the twilight’s sea.

    The moonlight cast a spectral glow,
    Through leaves that whispered ghostly magic spells,
    A realm where time was too slow to show,
    And shadows danced perpetually.

    In the tree’s hollow, dark and deep,
    An old, forgotten grave resided,
    Where phantoms in their silence wept,
    And rested beneath the spectral tides.

    A voice once soft now rose clear,
    To beckon those who dared to tread,
    A plea to listen, to draw near,
    To hear the stories of the dead.

    Yet those who heeded the mournful call,
    May have found their fate entwined in woe,
    For beneath the hollow tree’s dark fall,
    The spirits of the lost did grow.

    The roots stretched deep into the dark,
    Where ancient sorrows intertwined,
    Each tendril held a ghostly mark,
    Of lives interwoven with fate’s design.

    The wind’s lament was cold and stark,
    A melody of loss and grief,
    It sings of dreams left in the dark,
    Of shadows yearning for relief.

    The tree’s dark form stood still and grim,
    A sentinel of endless night,
    Its branches weaved a sombre hymn,
    In moonlit haze and spectral light.

    Beneath its boughs, the stories lay,
    In whispered tales of days long past,
    A haunted world where shadows sighed,
    And echoes of the loss were cast.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Melancholy Of Abandoned Hopes

    The Melancholy Of Abandoned Hopes

    The melancholy of abandoned hopes,
    In the abyss of the night, where shadows softly crept, dwelled the realm of sorrow and wept,
    Underneath the moon’s pale and ghostly glow,
    While the whispering woes of the night winds blew.

    Sorrow’s realm dwelled in the shadows and hid in the abyss of the night,
    Where secrets slept among ancient ruins of failed dreams,
    Ivy grew so thick to lurk the sorrow of abandoned and sick illusions,
    Once-bright ambitions now faded and torn.

    Hope lay buried in silence, where it was once born,
    In the emptiness and void of senses, now haunting and cold,
    Reverberating through halls where bliss and peace once strolled,
    Whose walls, now crumbling, spoke of days gone by.

    When hearts were full and spirits high,
    In the broken windows, only reflections of despair,
    Glimpsed spirits and ghouls who lingered, forever ensnared in hollowed traps of disdain,
    Their eyes, like sunken wells, devoid of light, told of battles lost in endless nights of death.

    The aether became thick with whispers of unkept promises,
    Of futures once envisioned, now silently swept away,
    By wild storms with hurling winds of mournful cruelty,
    Ghostly sighs carrying remnants of gloomy cries.

    Beneath the withered trees, where no sunlight dared to tread,
    Lay the remnants of fantasies, now cold and dead,
    The branches twisted with an agony within,
    Reached out in silent torments to the void they were in.

    In this sombre place, where hope had lost its way,
    Each step echoed the grief of past times,
    The path was dark, lined with ashes of despair,
    Leading to a chasm of obliviousness laying bare.

    In the crevasse of infinite melancholy, where abandonment reigned,
    The heartbeats slowed, bound by invisible chains,
    For in the land where wishes were left behind,
    Only the sorrow of shadows could be found.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Wraiths Of The Beyond

    The Wraiths Of The Beyond

    The wraiths of the beyond,
    In realms far away from the waking thought,
    Where spirits of the past are caught,
    A silent wail, a mournful cry,
    Reverberates through the midnight sky.

    The moon casts down a silver tear,
    Upon a world entwined in fear,
    Where restless souls in shadows wade,
    And memories of the living fade.

    In ghostly halls of ancient stone,
    Where whispers chill every chamber and throne,
    The spectral wraiths begin their dance,
    In macabre, hypnotic trance.

    Their forms, ethereal, shift and sway,
    In rhythms that the dark obeys,
    With eyes like voids, they seek the light,
    After they fled from their eternal night.

    Through mazes of lost despair,
    They glide upon the aether unfair,
    Each step a pulse of silent dread,
    A reminder of a nameless dead.

    An echo from the abyss of gloom,
    Where time forgets to thread its loom,
    Resounds through hollows cold and vast,
    A remnant of a tragic past.

    Their laments rise in eerie song,
    A dirge of all that went so wrong,
    Of hopes that crumbled into dust,
    Of dreams that shattered into rust.

    In their mournful, haunting wail,
    A hidden enigma is concealed,
    A glimpse of what awaits the stars all,
    Beyond the mortal curtain’s fall.

    For death is but a passageway,
    To realms where shadows hold their sway,
    And in the darkness, truths are found,
    Where light has never touched the ground.

    The wraiths return to shadows deep,
    To fade into eternal sleep,
    But still, their shadow lingers near,
    A haunting touch of spectral fear.

    And as the sun begins to rise,
    The darkness whispers its goodbyes,
    Yet, in the heart, an echo stays,
    A ghostly whisper through the days.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Uncertainty Of A Lost Dream

    The Uncertainty Of A Lost Dream

    The Uncertainty Of A Lost Dream

    The uncertainty of a lost dream in the realm of the blankness
    In the most remote place of the imagination
    Where every soul gets lost in the labyrinth of the darkness
    When it seems that every hope vanished and every clarity had been erased
    The silence whispers all the secrets that hover in the ethereal
    Where the deception and the honesty blend together, creating a profanity of senses
    Confusion and bewilderment become the sweet refuge of the dejected souls
    Miserable is the foul frolic of the spirits that lost themselves in the maze of the stupor
    Like in an endless nightmare that might fade as soon as the hallucinations vanish away
    When the torpor ceases to feed every spirited soul, once the despair rules the realm of the imperceptible.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Chasing Clouds

    Chasing Clouds

    Chasing Clouds

    Chasing clouds on a cold winter night
    All the hearts go flying up to the sky
    The wind whispers the untold truth
    The stars cling to the firmament silently
    Whilst the spirits wander obliviously in the emptiness
    The darkness swallows every spark of light
    Every desire disintegrates the bond of the obliteration
    Shattered clouds by deep shadows’ waves
    When the unknown obscurity embraces the eternity
    In the illusion of an instant that pierces the blurred sky
    The last fragments of an endless dream clash
    And every small desire seeks to bloom in memories
    Collapsing into the dark edge of a boundless universe.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

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