The Melancholy Manor

An AI image exuding melancholy and sadness evocative of the atmosphere of the poem The Melancholy Manor

The melancholy manor, grand yet worn,
Hosted a ghost of sorrow born,
Its halls were cold, its rooms were bare,
With echoes of despair.

The chandelier, it swayed with ease,
In the drafts of phantom breezes,
Its crystals caught the moon’s cold light,
Casting shadows in the night.

Portraits hung on walls of dust,
Faces faded, lost to rust,
Their gazes, they followed every move,
In this mansion, none could have soothed.

A piano in the corner stood alone,
Its keys were untouched by mortal hands,
It played a tune of deep lament,
A melody of sorrow spent.

In the library, books decayed,
Their pages brown, their words away,
Each ancient tome was a tale of love and loss,
Of souls that paid the highest cost.

The garden, wild with creeping vines,
Its beauty was lost to dark edges,
A fountain dry, its waters gone,
A symbol of what’s passed and done.

The mirrors cracked, reflecting the past,
Of memories that could not have lasted,
A phantom’s face, a spectral tear,
They waited for someone who was not near.

The staircase creaked with every step,
A sound that made the silence weep,
Its bannister, a cold embrace,
Of hands that longed for warmest grace.

The clock ticked in mournful chime,
A metronome of endless time,
In every corner, shadows played,
In the manor, where ghosts stayed.

Whoever found themselves trapped inside,
This house of sorrow, thick and evanescent,
Remembered those who lived before,
And left their grief within its doors.

The melancholy manor was silent and forsaken,
On the inside, lingering threads of lost despair,
The manor held its secrets tight,
Within the grip of endless nights.

Cobwebs draped like silken shrouds,
Ensnaring dreams beneath their clouds,
Time was immutable in haunted gloom,
Where sorrow was the only bloom.

Outside, the wind began to howl,
Echoing the manor’s mournful growl,
The world moved on, but there it stayed,
A relic of the lives betrayed.

No respite from the phantom’s call,
Bound to the melancholy hall,
The manor wept with ghostly grace,
A timeless, haunted, solemn place.
Esther Elizabeth Racah

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