The lost ritual beneath a blood-red and mournful sky,
Where ancient runes were cast,
A ritual’s dark secrets lay,
In shadows of the past.
The moon hung low, its crimson glow,
Illuminated the scene,
Where symbols formed a mystic show,
In spectral, eerie sheen.
The circle drawn in midnight’s gloom,
With symbols strange and old,
Invoked the spirits from their tomb,
Their whispers were dark and cold.
In the heart of an ancient grove,
The lost ritual unfolded,
With chants that stirred the winds and roved,
And tales that darkness held.
The air grew thick with foreboding,
As omens twisted and wound,
A prophecy of dark foreboding,
Where light and shadow blended.
A blood moon’s gaze upon the rite,
Its hue of foreboding red,
Revealed a glimpse of eternal night,
And shadows of the dead.
The rite concluded, the silence deep,
Yet echoes ever stayed,
The darkened prophecy to keep,
And haunt the coming day.
In cryptic whispers and forgotten lore,
The lost ritual’s secrets dwelled,
A dark omen forevermore,
In shadows’ ghostly spell.
Deeper still, the grove concealed,
A power dark and dread,
As ancient as the earth revealed,
The secrets of the dead.
The winds now howled with mournful cries,
The trees began to sway,
Beneath the crimson, bleeding skies,
The spirits came to play.
The ground was marked with ash and bone,
A vestige of yore,
Where shadows danced, and phantoms moaned,
On this accursed floor.
The chants grew louder, fervent, wild,
A chorus of despair,
As if the very night defiled,
The sacred, tainted air.
With each incantation spoken,
The darkness grew near,
A seal of fate was now unbroken,
Revealing untold fear.
The lanterns flickered, casting shapes,
Of long-lost souls in plight,
Their spectral forms in twisted capes,
Amid the blood-red light.
The final words, a piercing scream,
That echoed through the night,
Awakened all the ancient dreams,
Of sorrow, pain, and fright.
The grove now stood in silence,
The lost ritual at an end,
Yet in the air, a presence,
That time would never mend.
For those who trod this haunted path,
Beware the curse it kept,
The ritual’s dark, abiding wrath,
Within the shadows crept.
The lost ritual beneath the sky,
Where moon and shadows blended,
Would ever haunt the passerby,
Until the very end.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
