Tag: time

  • A Crimson Night

    A Crimson Night

    A crimson night unveiled the arcane secrets of my darkness
    Faded and timid were my dreams beneath the silver moonlight
    Immersed in a mysterious garden of crimson roses
    I was searching for a sublime delight and solace that could alleviate my pangs

    The cold breeze whispered legends of ancient memories
    Dissolved in the void like magic smoke from an enchanted meadow
    And I was startled by the obliteration of time that ceased to exist
    Because I pretended to be in a utopian world
    A realm of darkness and beauty, made of bliss and anguish

    I wept with all my heart as my crimson roses were bleeding passionately
    Their enchanting scent became tainted by the dust of decay
    Every bliss dissolved into the ether of death, and the crimson night transfigured
    Soothing was the sound of the rain falling over each leaf of dead trees

    In the mournful stillness of that mystic night
    The fragments of all my desires lingered in the shadows of despair
    Each teardrop of mine was a haunting ghost of aborted dreams shattered to dust
    The void disclosed a concealed elegy within me

    Every wilted petal and every faded hue spoke of love and death entangled in ephemeral disgrace
    It was like I was wandering infinitely in a labyrinth of dusk and decay
    The spirit of loneliness traced a path for me to follow
    And I couldn’t seek solace in the bittersweet embrace of darkness and agony

    All the winter winds hauled my silent dirge
    I surrendered to the eternal enigma of magnificence and despair
    Every flame of the night was a fabled spark conducting me to my eternal doom
    Draining myself to death, I had lost the game of life.
    Elisabetta

  • The Crumbled Castle of Lost Expectations

    The Crumbled Castle of Lost Expectations

    The crumbled castle of lost expectations stood in ruins beneath an indifferent sky,
    Its arches bent, its towers broken,
    Its promises faded away too soon.

    Winds howled through the hollowed halls,
    Where once the fate bright had shone.
    Dreams drifted like the autumn leaves,
    Long dead but never entirely gone.

    Shattered windows framed the sky,
    Where hope once rose but now fell fast.
    The crumbled castle of lost expectations
    Watched as time dragged out the past.

    Its walls had held such hopes and dreams,
    But those were buried deep in stone.
    Each vow, each word, each fleeting thought,
    Eroded by time, cold and alone.

    Forgotten by the world outside,
    Its gates, once open, were now closed tight.
    A monument to loss and grief,
    It drowned in the depth of endless night.

    The crumbled castle of lost expectations was a haven once,
    But like all things, it too decayed,
    Its walls were too frail to endlessly endure.

    There were relics and memories from years gone by,
    But now they were just ghosts in the air.
    Colours and glimmers, faint, like shadows passed,
    Through corridors that lead nowhere.

    A kingdom built on fragile hope,
    Now overtaken by despair.
    Every dream that once gleamed radiant now lay broken,
    Scattered everywhere.

    Vines crept over forgotten doors,
    Their tendrils strangled what remained,
    And ivy choked the marble floors,
    In time’s indifferent, endless chains.

    The crumbled castle of lost expectations witnessed the love that turned to dust.
    No joy remained, no delight, no glow,
    Only fragments of misplaced trust.

    Each stone, once laid with tender hands,
    Now crumbles under sorrow’s poundage.
    The days grew long, the nights grew cold,
    And silence sealed its final fate.

    A tower, once monumental, collapsed in pain,
    Its windows were ravaged, stained with tears.
    It fell not with a roar or cry,
    But with a whisper through the years.

    The shattered castle of forsaken dreams stood now as a tomb to all that was gone,
    A hollow relic of dreams once lustrous,
    And lives that flickered out at dawn.

    No sun will rise, no dawn will break,
    No voices will call out its name.
    Only the wind will mourn its fate,
    And time will erase its fleeting flame.

    A silent ghost whose memories were too faint to be kept.
    The crumbled castle of lost expectations fell to dust and ceased to exist.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Unusual Loneliness

    Unusual Loneliness

    Unusual loneliness, like a trap of despair,
    In the silent hollow profundities of melancholy,
    Like waiting for nothing.

    Solitude was a tree in a landscape in black and white,
    Where no bird was seen flying in a cloudy sky,
    With no sun, no stars.

    Gardens of withered flowers, suddenly dead,
    We were cloaked by a cold darkness,
    While the wind silently touched every dead leaf.

    Obsessions and sweet anguishes were the only companions of dreamers,
    Daring to challenge the infinite abyss of darkness,
    In the absence of any comfort and solace.

    The ocean mirrored a void that swallowed the horizon,
    Its waves whispered secrets to no one—
    Each crest fell into oblivion,
    A rhythmic pulse, echoing an empty heart.

    Unusual loneliness became a captivating spell,
    In front of the infinite ocean, unifying with a cloudless sky,
    Neither sunrise nor sunset are allowed to rule.

    Indeed, in the chasm of this desolation,
    There was no cry, no scream to break the spell,
    Only the slow, measured breathing of a realm too tired to weep.

    Beneath the surface, creatures swam in circles,
    Trapped like thoughts repeating,
    Chasing themselves endlessly.

    Until the silence became unbearable,
    Shadows whispered in the void,
    And even the depths withheld their embrace.

    Solitude was a tree in a landscape in black and white,
    Where no bird was seen flying in a cloudy sky,
    With no sun, no stars.

    Unusual loneliness, like a trap of despair,
    In the silent hollow profundities of melancholy,
    Like waiting for nothing.

    Gardens of withered flowers, suddenly dead,
    We were cloaked by a cold darkness,
    While the wind silently touched every dead leaf.

    Obsessions and sweet anguishes were the only companions of dreamers,
    Daring to challenge the infinite abyss of darkness,
    In the absence of any comfort and solace.

    The ocean mirrored a void that swallowed the horizon,
    Its waves whispered secrets to no one—
    Each crest fell into oblivion.

    In the chasm of this desolation, there was no cry,
    No scream to break the spell could be heard,
    Only the slow, measured signing of a realm too tired to weep.

    Unusual loneliness was a strong ruler,
    No fool, no wise could escape its lure,
    In a kingdom of silence, vast and infinite.

    Beneath the surface of the sea, creatures swam in circles,
    Trapped like thoughts repeating,
    Chasing themselves endlessly.

    Until the silence became unbearable,
    And even the depths withheld their embrace,
    Since the darkness was too vast for escape.

    The mountains, once mighty and towering, now seemed worn and hollow,
    Their peaks were erased by time,
    As if they, too, were succumbing to despair.

    Each stone whispered tales of forgotten triumphs,
    Now, only memories lost to the winds of neglect,
    Fading into the silence.

    Unusual loneliness crept like a mist,
    Cold branches wrapping in a deadly twist,
    A silent grip no soul could resist.

    The sky, stretching endlessly, refused to colour the world beneath it.
    It held no promises, no passions,
    Just a blanket of monotonous grey.

    Even the rain, if it dared to fall, would weep in silence.
    There was no place untouched by the chill of loneliness—
    A world where sorrow reigned supreme.

    Every corner, every shadow, echoed the same quiet devastation,
    A symphony composed not of music but of absence,
    Playing to an empty audience.

    Even time itself seemed to crawl, hesitating with each tick,
    As though unsure if it should even continue,
    Caught in its own web of doubts.

    Unusual loneliness haunted the world,
    A wind of shadows, a formless snare,
    Dragging the mortals into its lair.

    Anonymous laments echoed in the distance—faint, deliberate,
    A wanderer perhaps, someone who dared to explore this barren world,
    Searching for something, anything.

    But there was no one else.
    No soul, no companion, no warmth,
    Only the endless cycle of overthinking and the ache of isolation.

    The mind wandered into mazes of memory,
    But even there, the colours had faded,
    And the voices of the past had grown faint.

    A lone figure stood by the shore, gazing into the nothingness of the sea.
    Their reflection, distorted by the gentle ripples of the water,
    Seemed more real than the person.

    Unusual loneliness wore the moon’s facade,
    A ghostly mask in an empty space,
    Draining light, leaving no trace.

    And in this moment, time itself became irrelevant.
    There was no before, no after, only this singular, agonising now,
    An eternal present where nothing changed.

    Where the world, once teeming with life, had become a still frame,
    Frozen in the throes of despair,
    A realm untouched by the hands of time.

    The atmosphere became oppressive, clinging to everything like a second skin,
    Stifling even the thought of escape,
    The dreams laboured to survive in such a world.

    Each sigh was a reminder of the poundage of existence,
    And, in the midst of all this, there was always something strangely awkward—
    Perhaps it was the predictability of the emptiness.

    Unusual loneliness penetrated the stones,
    A shout that hummed when everyone was alone,
    Weaving despair in every bone.

    The knowledge that nothing would bewilder the silence,
    No sudden joy, no sharp pain—just the steady hum of nothing,
    A bleak kind of peace.

    And maybe that was the true curse of this unusual loneliness,
    The temptation to surrender to it fully,
    To embrace the void as one’s own.

    To forget the world beyond,
    For what was the use in resisting when the darkness seemed so welcoming?
    The quiet called out, beckoning for surrender.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Dead Dreams

    Dead Dreams

    Dead dreams haunted
    the hollow realm,
    where forgotten hopes withered
    beneath a sky
    of perpetual dusk.

    Once, this place had been
    crowded with life,
    with hope,
    with the vibrant pulse of chance.
    But those days were long gone,
    and now the only inhabitants
    were ghosts
    of forgotten desires.

    Regret lingered
    as sharp and suffocating as smoke,
    tainting everything
    it touched.

    Dead dreams lingered
    in the corners,
    hiding in the cracks of walls,
    in the dust that coated
    every room.

    The house was falling apart,
    its bones creaking
    under the strain of time.

    The windows were broken,
    the doors hanging loose
    on their hinges,
    and yet something remained—
    a presence, invisible,
    undeniable,
    watched from the shadows.

    Dead dreams whispered
    through the air,
    soft voices,
    insistent.

    They spoke
    of what could have been,
    of paths not taken,
    of futures lost.

    Their words wound
    through the halls,
    pulling deeper
    into the heart
    of decay.

    The walls seemed to close in,
    the rooms growing smaller,
    more suffocating.

    The air was thick with dust,
    with the weight
    of years.

    Dead dreams never indeed die;
    they fade,
    becoming one with shadows,
    with silence.

    The house would stand forever,
    a monument
    to what was lost,
    to what could never
    be reclaimed.

    In the end,
    it would claim all,
    just as it had claimed
    those who came before.

    There was no escape
    from the dead dreams.

    They lingered on
    long afterlife
    had left.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Lost Desires

    Lost Desires

    In the chamber, dust collects on dreams,
    Lost desires whisper through the seams.
    Love letters yellowed with time,
    Words once fervent now seem like a crime.

    Fading photographs on the wall,
    Captured moments where shadows fall.
    Once vibrant hopes, now ghostly shades,
    Mirrors of deception cast enigmatic spells.

    A wilted rose waits in a forgotten vase,
    Each petal is a token of a vanished grace.
    Promises whispered beneath the moon,
    Now drift like leaves, a sorrowful tune.

    The clock chimes softly, a distant sound,
    Reminders of dreams buried underground.
    Longings linger like phantom’s sighs,
    What was lost cannot be denied.

    In the mirror’s reflection, a vacant stare,
    Lost desires haunt, a weight hard to bear.
    The heart aches for what might have been,
    For love unfulfilled, trapped in between.

    In empty passageways, the shadows play,
    Reminders of what slipped away.
    Conversations linger in the air,
    While silence echoes, a vacant glare.

    The fireplace crackles, its warmth long gone,
    Remembrances flicker like the break of dawn.
    Once shared moments, now bittersweet tales,
    As wandering through the halls of defeat.

    With every tear, a wish dissolves,
    In the abyss of sorrow, the heart twists.
    However, still, mortals chase those fading lights,
    In the hollow dark of endless nights.

    Lost desires bind like invisible chains,
    Each yearning whisper amplifies the pain.
    Finally, in the stillness, there lies a spark of darkness,
    A flicker of dismay lights up the eternity.

    Every heart mourns what’s lost to time,
    In the forsaken lore of lost desires,
    Among mysterious myths of love and longing,
    Forever undisclosed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • An Empty Life

    An Empty Life

    An empty life became a monument to emptiness,
    A celebration of nothingness in an empty universe,
    Among shadows and darkness, where silence ruled.

    Ghostly whispers were ephemeral vestiges,
    Of delights lost in forsaken dwellings,
    Houses crumbled in hollow valleys,
    Under the glare of dark clouds, forever forced to roam.

    An empty life drifted through the gardens of thorns,
    Where vibrant screams faded into mere sighs,
    And undisclosed dreams perished.

    The clock ticked slowly, its hands wearied,
    Time grieved softly, though none were teary,
    Chasing phantoms of faded grace,
    In a world stripped bare, devoid of space.

    Empty chambers lit by the dimmest light,
    Once filled with the ardour, they were now eerie mazes,
    With portraits of eyes that once sparkled with lively glee.

    Staring blankly beyond imagination,
    In the mirror, an outsider’s mask,
    Reflected haunting reveries in this empty space,
    A life once painted in vibrant hues.

    Grey blood was a relic of a cruel fate,
    Each day, a raindrop fell behind the silver surface of a mirror,
    In the void’s embrace, where expectations grew thin.

    Lost in the labyrinth of despair,
    An empty life drifted, gasping for air,
    The garden once bloomed with bright colours,
    Now lay barren, devoid of light.

    Withering petals like dreams left behind,
    In the stillness, a haunting echo of the mind,
    Once, delight and joy filled every creaking stair.

    And so silence weaved its cloak of despair,
    The fervour of a touch now was just a ghost,
    In this empty life, memories tormented the most,
    Cobbled paths led to nowhere forever.

    With dreams forgotten, everyone would have taken their vow,
    To wander aimlessly, in shadows confined,
    In the emptiness, where no solace could ever be found.

    A glimmer of hope in a world turned bleak,
    Finally, every endeavour felt cold and weak
    As the sun set low on a weary spirit,
    An empty life remained beyond control.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Dead Desires

    Dead Desires

    Dead desires lingered like ghosts,
    Hovering over ruins of faded aspirations,
    The giggles of delight that once filled the air turned to despair,
    A reminder of desires that withered away,
    Like autumn leaves crumbling into dust,
    Beneath the weight of relentless time.

    In the stillness of forsaken dreams,
    Shadows swirled under the tree of hopes that once thrived,
    Weaving through remnants of a forgotten past,
    Each piece of yearning faded into the void,
    As the heart’s vibrant ache succumbed to silence,
    Lost in the echoes of what could have been.

    Days, once painted in vivid hues,
    Became shrouded in muted greys,
    Each moment became a cruel reminder,
    Of warmth that slipped through fingers,
    The chill of time’s cruel embrace
    Froze every hope into lifelessness.

    A single tear traced a path down a cheek,
    Carrying the burden of unfulfilled wishes,
    The heart, once a vessel of fervour,
    Now beat with a hollow rhythm,
    A metronome marking unachieved desires,
    Each tick resonated with loss.

    Dead desires drifted like fallen leaves,
    Words unspoken, deeply felt,
    In the stillness, they hung heavy,
    As the moon illuminated the decay of hope,
    Scattering dreams like ashes in the wind,
    Leaving only shadows of what had been.

    As twilight approached, the air grew colder,
    Each breath was a reminder of dreams abandoned,
    The heart ached for the fire it once held,
    Now, only embers remained,
    Smouldering in the corners of a darkened soul,
    A monument to the dead desires that lingered on.

    In the quiet corners of memory,
    The shadows whispered tales of longing,
    The paths not taken became a haunting refrain,
    As the heart learned to dwell in the silence,
    Embracing the sorrow that filled the void,
    Finding beauty in the ashes of dreams.

    Dead desires echoed through the aisles of time,
    A haunting melody of what might have been,
    Reverberating through the deepest depths of the abyss,
    And, in their sight, the heart understood,
    That within each ember lay a spark of hope,
    A reminder that even in loss, tragedy can unveil meaning.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Last Midnight

    The Last Midnight

    The last midnight had drawn near,
    Its shadow was cold and sharp with fear.
    The wind, once howling, had stilled to nought,
    As darkness claimed the light, it sought.

    The last midnight hung heavy in the air,
    A curse, a promise, a final snare.
    No stars had pierced the sky that night,
    Only endless blackness in its fading light.

    They had waited in the decaying halls,
    Where silence seeped through fractured walls.
    The last midnight loomed with fate’s cold hand,
    A doom too close to understand.

    Eyes had watched the hands tick slowly,
    As if time itself feared the blow.
    For the last midnight was nearly here,
    Bringing with it dread and fear.

    The air had thickened, dense and still,
    As shadows danced with a cruel will.
    The moments passed like final breaths,
    Each one was steeped in the scent of death.

    The last midnight struck its hollow tone,
    And from the void, no mercy was shown.
    A bell that tolled from the depths of night,
    Had sealed the fate with its final bite.

    The heart had ceased, the soul withdrew,
    As darkness deepened and shadows grew.
    No solace came, no saving hand,
    For the days had met their cursed end.

    The last midnight had claimed its due,
    The curse fulfilled, the terror true.
    The wind outside resumed its cry,
    As the soul left with a whispered sigh.

    The mansion had stood in endless gloom,
    Each corner was steeped in haunted doom.
    The last midnight lingered on the walls,
    Echoing still through empty halls.

    And when the final hour passed,
    It left behind a vast silence.
    No dawn would rise, no morning bright,
    Only the void of endless night.

    The last midnight was all that stayed,
    A memory lost in darkness’ shade.
    No living soul to mourn, to weep,
    For all had drifted into sleep.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • Unopened Pages

    Unopened Pages

    Beyond the cover, realms await, unseen,
    In every book, a path to what has been.
    However, here prejudice stands, with its labels in the hands,
    Dismissing truths, it barely understands.

    The minds that bind themselves with endless chains,
    Are deaf to stories’ wisdom and knowledge gained.
    They close the book before it’s fully read,
    Content with titles, names, and what’s been said.

    But truth defies the cages they create,
    It bends beyond the lines that separate.
    For every story written holds a key,
    To unlock hearts and set the spirit free.

    To judge an essence by labels is to miss
    The depth of life, the beauty in the abyss.
    The page that holds the answers lies untorn,
    Nevertheless, senses stay closed, and ignorance is born.

    Beneath the ink, shadows twist and creep,
    Murmurs from forgotten worlds sleep.
    The words, like phantoms, haunt each line,
    Begging to be freed from the threads of time.

    More than the surface, deeper should they dive,
    For in those words, the most trustworthy self survives.
    The books unopened hold a thousand skies,
    And in their pages, prejudice defies.

    The label shouldn’t blind crowds from the tale,
    For in the written word, all hearts prevail.
    To open books is more than just a task,
    It frees the soul from every mask.

    And as the pages crackle in the night,
    A ghostly hand beckons toward the light.
    No thought confined, no mortal boxed away,
    For every story lives beyond the fray.
    The truth of existence cannot be simply named,
    It’s written comprehensively, with words that can’t be tamed.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

  • The Hollow Silence

    The Hollow Silence

    The hollow silence gripped the night,
    Beneath the weight of silent skies,
    Where stars once whispered dreams of light,
    But faded away as desires had died.

    The wind of life, a fleeting spark,
    Danced through the trees, then quickly waned—
    Moments dissolved into the dark,
    Lost to the hollow silence’ gloom.

    Time marched on, indifferent still,
    A tireless thief, unseen, unkind,
    Stripping bare the fragile will
    Of those who sought but could not find.

    The hollow silence swelled and grew,
    A wave that drowned all sound, all sense—
    The world spun on, yet no one knew,
    Trapped in its vast indifference.

    No light to guide, no ardour to grant,
    The weight of days, too vast to bear—
    For in that void, all breathed, all lived,
    Nonetheless, it only grasped at hollow air.

    With each effort made, an echoed sigh,
    A sunken sound, a ghostly tread,
    Chasing stars that blurred and died,
    In skies where all the dreams had fled.

    The sun did rise, the moon did fall,
    But neither heeded mortal cries—
    Existence, vast, untouched by all,
    Turned a blind, unfeeling eye.

    The hollow silence claimed its prize,
    Wrapped every thought in numbing frost—
    For in the end, beneath those skies,
    Reckoning all that was treasured and lost.

    And finally, a longing, despite the void,
    For meaning woven in the haze,
    Seeking truths that fate destroyed,
    In endless nights and hollow days.

    A hollow silence called so near,
    Its cold embrace, a final snare—
    The search for answers, year by year,
    Yet only shadows lingered there.

    Still wandering, lost and small,
    Through labyrinths of endless nights—
    Hoping, though fearing the fall,
    That something waited beyond sight.

    But time, relentless in its flight,
    Left all dreams to fade away—
    The distant resonances of the night,
    A silent plea that none could sway.

    Reaching for more eventually only found,
    The hollow silence, all around,
    Burying all without a sound.
    Esther Elizabeth Racah

© Esther Racah 2025. All rights reserved.