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Calls out for a lover that fate rescinded.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
