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
