Eleanor

Of innocence, my hands were bound,
of solitude, of vice;
the rope gnawed in to shred my skin,
rubbed red with every slice.

But once upon a sparkling dawn
from dungeon deep, I heard
the sound of you, so clear and true,
speak each forgotten word.

My Eleanor, the raven black:
a woman so surreal
that things can seem to be a dream
within her gaze of steel.

She slipped between the iron bars;
a shade did cross my eyes
as Eleanor the dark ignored -
it fell and let her shine.

She held me close, she made me strong,
she cut my binds with ease;
we clutched respite between the stars,
we stayed to watch them freeze -

and how my face was guided
by her hand, as smooth as waves -
yes, how behind her lips moved stone,
and how she slipped away.


~
Age when written: 14, last stanza 15