Tag: supernatural themes

  • The Silent Doom

    The Silent Doom

    The silent doom unfolded beneath a sky as black as coal,
    The earth was but a hollow bowl,
    Where silence fell like frozen rain,
    And darkness gripped with quiet pain.

    No wind disturbed the still, dead air,
    No voices called from anywhere,
    The world was hushed like a muted tomb,
    Having embraced within the silent doom.

    The trees stood tall, their branches bare,
    Like bony fingers in despair,
    Their leaves long lost to time’s cruel hand,
    Now dust upon the ashen land.

    A river once did flow and gleam,
    But now it was just a haunted stream,
    A twisted path of ghostly grey,
    Where echoes drifted and faded away.

    The stars above were cold and dim,
    Their light was consumed by shadows’ grim,
    As if the night itself did swoon,
    Beneath the weight of a silent doom.

    A tower arose against the void,
    Its stones, by ages long destroyed,
    However, still, it loomed, a lonely spire,
    A relic of some bygone fire.

    No footsteps sound upon its stairs,
    No whispered invocations filled the air,
    The halls were lost in endless gloom,
    The echoes stilled by the silent doom.

    The ground was scarred with ancient strife,
    The remnants of a stolen life,
    A battlefield where none remained,
    But spectres bound in endless pain bloodstained.

    The moon, though full, shed not a glow,
    It hovered like a ghostly woe,
    A faded orb that could not bloom,
    Held captive by the silent doom.

    The sky became dim, the air too dense to breathe,
    A fog that did not drift or seethe,
    But hanged like sorrow in the night,
    And choked the world of hope and light.

    No dawn ever broke, no day ever rose,
    No sun ever burned in empty skies,
    For in this realm, the world had met its end,
    And silence was its only friend.

    Yet somewhere deep, a heart still beat,
    A pulse beneath the fractured streets,
    A rhythm faint, a distant boom,
    Resisting still the silent doom.

    But time moved slowly, and life decayed,
    The shadows lengthened in their stays,
    And soon all breath ceased to loom,
    Devoured by the silent doom.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Wicked Ouija

    The Wicked Ouija

    The wicked Ouija was lit by a candle’s flicker,
    While shadows danced through the smoke,
    Around the board of fate and chance,
    A circle drawn in trembling light,
    Awaked spirits of the night.

    The letters carved with ancient care,
    The planchette moved on stagnant air,
    It slid across the board’s dark grain,
    As whispers rose like falling rain.

    “Who calls upon the world unseen?”
    The spirits hissed, their voices keen,
    From realms where silence choked the breath,
    And every word was stained with death.

    The aura became gloomy, a midnight haze,
    The flame burned low, a sallow blaze,
    The letters spelt a name unknown,
    A voice that chilled down to the bone.

    The board revealed what none should know,
    Old secrets buried long ago,
    Of broken vows and endless pain,
    And souls that wandered, bound by chain.

    The planchette halted, then jerked anew,
    The spirits murmured, dark and true,
    It slid towards the word “despair,”
    A warning was written on the air.

    The room grew cold, the candles dim,
    The shadows stretched and twisted their limbs,
    And faces form in smoky wisps,
    With silent screams on phantom lips.

    A question asked, “What lies beyond?”
    The spirits answered, voices fond,
    Of empty rooms and endless nights,
    Where darkness swallowed even light.

    The wicked Ouija then trembled, cracked with force,
    As if possessed by some dark source,
    A chill seeped deep into the bones,
    As laments increased from ghostly tones.

    The planchette spun, then fell to still,
    Its purpose served, its hunger filled,
    And yet the air remained so tense,
    The world was divided by a fence.

    The flame burned out, the darkness spread,
    The board was closed, the spirits fled,
    But something lingered in the gloom,
    A presence bound within the room.

    The candle’s wick still smouldered red,
    A final ember, spirit-fed,
    And though the board lay now at rest,
    Its wicked secrets were still infesting.

    For those who dare to seek and call,
    The veil between shall be thin and fall,
    And through the wicked Ouija’s art,
    The dead may still whisper to the heart.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Castle of Stone

    The Castle of Stone

    The castle of stone arose majestically amid the hills where shadows lay,
    The castle stood beneath the cloudy sky,
    Its towers stretched like skeletal hands,
    Grasping at clouds that shift like sands.

    A mournful wind, it softly moaned,
    Through broken halls and cracked old stones,
    The walls were adorned with dust and time,
    Once echoes of a distant chime.

    The ivy crawled in twisted veins,
    A silent witness to the pains,
    That haunted these chambers where darkness crept,
    Where secrets bled, and phantoms wept.

    The moonlight spilt like liquid frost,
    Illuminating souls long lost,
    Their whispers drifted on chilling air,
    The dead’s lament, a ghostly prayer.

    In shadowed corners, eyes unseen,
    Watched over things that might have been,
    A shiver stirred within the night,
    The stones remembered, felt, and frightened.

    The floorboards groaned with every step,
    As if they woke from ages slept,
    spectres formed where cold mist flowed,
    In passages like winding groves.

    The tapestries, though moths devoured,
    Portrayed some ancient, dreaded hour,
    Of blood and grief and fates unknown,
    Told in the silence of the stone.

    Above, the clock stroke one last chime,
    Its hand now stilled by death and time,
    A voice that echoed through the halls,
    And faded away like distant calls.

    A door ajar, a flickering light,
    It beckoned through the endless night,
    However, none may have passed who entered whole,
    Because here, the castle kept its toll.

    Its chambers stretched, labyrinth mazes,
    Where dawn will never pierce the haze,
    And those who sought to find a way,
    They went lost forever in its sway.

    The ancient hearth lay cold and bare,
    No fire shall ever kindle there,
    But ashes held the ghosts of flame,
    And laments echoed of a name.

    A name once carved on marble cold,
    Now weathered by the years untold,
    It faded as dust on twilight’s breath,
    A fleeting shadow kissed by death.

    The garden’s wrought with thorns and vines,
    Where roses once did twist and twine,
    Now black as pitch, they drooped and died,
    Beneath the starless, vacant sky.

    The heart of the castle of stone beat faint and slow,
    Its pulse a thrum from long ago,
    A relic of a world forgotten,
    Where life and death entwined and decayed.

    No mortal traces stirred the chilling gloom,
    The air grew stale as heavy doom,
    And time itself did seem to slow,
    As stone entombed, all that did grow.

    In this place where darkness reigned,
    The past’s despair forever stained,
    And every echo, every groan,
    Lived on within the castle of stone.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Magic Insolence

    Magic Insolence

    Magic insolence evoked profane desires,
    Blooming in the garden of passion,
    When stupor and chaos fed the soil and roots,
    Under a cloudy sky deprived of stars.

    Arcane dreams devoured the bright lights,
    Devoiding the garden of passion with
    Whispers of forgotten rites and shadows,
    As petals withered, blackened in the night.

    The soil became thick with cursed intent,
    Breathed out a sigh of ancient grief,
    While tangled roots writhed, twisting beneath,
    Feeding on darkness, refusing ascent.

    No stars to guide, no moon to shine,
    Only the heft of silent doom,
    As ghostly winds stirred the gloom,
    The garden lay as time resigned.

    The aura itself seemed enthralled by dread,
    A spell unspoken lingered still,
    Bound to the earth with haunting will,
    Where only a magic insolence and madness dared to tread.

    The trees stood twisted, gaunt and bare,
    Their branches claws in the murky air.
    Each leaf that fell was a silent cry,
    A prayer was unanswered beneath the sky.

    The whispers grew louder, fierce and cold,
    Echoing tales of secrets untold.
    A dance of shadows began to weave,
    Between the tombstones of those who grieve.

    The flowers, once vibrant with lustrous hue,
    Now seeped with sorrow, soaked in blood and dew.
    Their beauty lost in the endless night,
    A memory fading, devoured by blight.

    And in the heart of this cursed domain,
    Where once passion thrived, now only pain,
    A wraith emerged from the creeping dark,
    Magic insolence entrapped everything with a mystical spark.

    With a vacant stare, it gazed in despair,
    Bound forever to the garden’s snare.
    A prisoner to the magic’s cost,
    In this garden where all was lost.

    The wind moaned softly, a mournful plea,
    For the magic of insolence would never release what could never be free,
    As the cursed garden stretched its roots,
    To claim the souls of shattered fruits.
    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

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