The living secret lay in the heart of an ancient wood,
Where shadows whispered, and wind brooded,
A secret lived, long kept in the gloom,
Breathing within the forest’s tombs.
Whispers of sorrow filled the air,
Ghostly figures, pale and fair,
Guarded the tale of dreams and dread,
Bound to secrets, never dead.
Moonlight seeped through twisted trees,
Casting shadows, eerie frieze,
Where the past and present met,
A haunting dance, silent yet fleet.
In the stillness of the night,
A lantern’s glowed, pale and slight,
And revealed the secret, living still,
Hidden in the vale and hill.
Once a love, now turned to woe,
In whispers, its sorrow flowed,
Bound by fate and time’s cruel hand,
A tale that none could understand.
Caution was required for those who dared,
For the living secret lingered there,
In the heart of the ancient wood,
Where shadows whispered, and wind brooded.
Beyond the veil, shadows lingered,
Reaching out with ghostly touches,
Eyes like embers, burning bright,
Glimmering beacon in the endless night.
They waited for those who would break the chain,
To lift the curse, to end the pain,
But none returned from whence they went,
Lost to the secret’s chilling glow.
A melody, both sweet and sad,
Echoed through the glade, so bad,
Alluring those whose desires belonged,
To join the wraiths where they indulged.
Treacherous was the path that led too far,
Where night concealed the morning star,
For in the dark, the secret lay,
Living in the mournful cries.
Ancient trees with twisted limbs,
Hid the faces, grim and dim,
Of souls that wandered, lost and cold,
In search of peace, they never told.
Through the mist, a whisper called,
From forgotten, crumbling halls,
Where the living secret bided its time,
A tale spun from sorrow’s rhyme.
No warning could have saved the brave and bold,
Of secrets ancient, dark, and old,
For in the heart of shadowed wood,
A living secret quietly stood.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
