The Storm of Doom

The storm of doom had begun to roar,
A thunder rolled upon the moor.
The skies had grown black, the winds unchained,
As darkness drowned the earth in the rain.

The lightning had cut a jagged seam,
A fractured night, a shattered dream.
It had struck the tower, ancient, grim,
A tomb for those who dwelled within.

The windows rattled in their frames,
The hearth’s flame flickered and then proclaimed,
Its dying gasp in choking ash,
While echoes of the lost desires had crashed.

The walls had wept mould, the ceiling cracked,
As shadows crawled from ancient tracks.
Their forms were vague, their voices cried,
A haunting wail that never died.

Beneath the storm of doom, despair ruled in all its might,
Devouring everything in endless nights.
Its fury had fed on grief and dread,
And sought the hearts of those misled.

The ocean had churned in wrath below,
As wretched waves crashed to and fro.
The cliffs had eroded, the earth had given way,
And night consumed the light of day.

When silence fell and the wind subsided,
The storm of doom retreated, but death abided.
Its final sigh had been a chilling hymn,
For those who had met their fate within.

In the abyss where shadows and darkness crept,
Arcane secrets awakened, and the lost souls wept.
A dance of phantoms, sorrow’s choir,
Ignited the aura with ghostly fire.

They whispered tales of what once had been,
Of lovers lost and ancient scars.
In every crack, in every sigh,
The dreams lingered and never died.

The storm might have faded, but memories clung,
In haunted hearts, they twisted and sang.
For as the tempest faded from sight,
The boundless night consumed every fading light.

Euphoric and lush senses were only mirages in the imagination of dreamers who fell into oblivion.
Esther Elizabeth Racah

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