The ghosts of the forgotten wandered near,
In twilight’s grasp, they did appear.
Their forms were faint, like fading mist,
And shadows clung where the light was kissed.
Their whispers rose with night’s cold wreath,
Echoes of life were now tinged with death.
They lingered where the darkness fell,
Between the world and some lost hell.
Among the ruins, they found their place,
Where time had left no single trace.
The walls were cracked, the stones were bare,
And sorrow hung upon the despair.
The moon above, an eerie eye,
Watched over where the spirits did sigh.
Its silver light fell upon the ashen ground,
Gave shape to those who made no sound.
They drifted through the shattered halls,
Where faded portraits lined the walls.
Their eyes were empty, cold as stone,
Forever trapped, forever alone.
And in the corners, shadows grew,
Where dreams decayed, and fear came into view.
The ghosts would reach with hands of frost,
Reminders of what once was lost.
Their laments merged in mournful cries,
A symphony of endless sighs.
They sang of grief and silent dread,
Of restless nights among the dead.
Nevertheless, in their sorrow, there was grace,
A haunting beauty in their face.
For though they roamed in death’s embrace,
Their longing time could not be erased.
And as the night gave way to dawn,
The ghosts of the forgotten were gone.
They vanished with the morning’s stealth,
Returning to their quiet and eternal death.
But among the ruins, still and grey,
Their presence lingers with the day.
And all who wander through that place,
Will feel the chill of their cold embrace.
A last desire might have been exposed,
That every whispered secret might remain undisclosed,
Until the very end of the eternal darkness,
Where time surrendered to a haunting stillness.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
