In shadows deep, where secrets lie,
A symphony, unfinished, cries,
A soul's lament, a haunting sound,
A tale of darkness yet unbound.
****
In hallowed halls, the music starts,
A discordant rhythm grips our hearts,
A melody, foreboding, weaves,
Through twisted notes, the spirit grieves.
****
Whispers echo through the night,
A haunting dirge, a dreadful plight,
The symphony, a spectral wraith,
Its composer lost to time's cruel faith.
****
Within the manuscript concealed,
A mystery waits to be revealed,
The notes, like clues, in silence scream,
A tortured soul's elusive dream.
****
From dusty shelves, the score is found,
By one who seeks what lies unbound,
But danger lurks in every note,
As chilling winds around them float.
****
The maestro's tale, a tragic lore,
Unravels now, on distant shores,
Each movement in this dark ballet,
Unveils a truth that will dismay.
****
As they delve into the past,
The shadows deepen, horrors cast,
Through haunted woods and misty glen,
The symphony plays again and again.
****
Is it a curse or mere design,
That keeps this opus unaligned?
The composer's fate, a harrowing fate,
Twisted secrets they create.
****
The closer they get to the heart,
The more they feel the terror's dart,
For darkness thrives on fear's embrace,
And mystery takes a chilling face.
****
In grand crescendo, truth unfolds,
A tale of evil, yet untold,
The symphony, a key to find,
The secrets buried in the mind.
****
But hearken now, beware the strain,
The soul's abyss, a haunted plain,
For those who seek the answers dire,
May find themselves in its dark mire.
****
As pages turn and souls entwine,
The symphony reaches its last line,
The climax nears, suspense so strong,
Will justice rise, or all go wrong?
****
In chilling cadence, let it end,
The Unfinished Symphony's dread ascend,
With hearts aflutter, souls entwined,
The truth awaits for all to find.
****
So, dear reader, heed this plea,
As the symphony sets souls free,
Beware the path you choose to stroll,
For the Unfinished may claim your soul.
About the Creator
Rakaa F.
📞 For inquiries and literary endeavors, drop me a message. Let's paint the world with the strokes of storytelling brilliance. 🌠
making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskar2 days ago in Feast
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