Victory

By Maryalice Wood

If scars be the trophies of triumph now,

The mirror reflects a fearful battle won.

Above a beating heart, where soft mounds rose…

No more the founts of femininity—

Just ragged vales of nothingness, so raw.

I weep for loss of pleasure, loss of joy.

As days turn into weeks, light slowly breaks,

With every dawn, the weight of sorrow lifts.

For life is more than flesh, than shape, than touch.

Hope flickers in the darkest hour and grows.

Charged emotions run a frenzied gauntlet, 

Surmounting hurdles of both fear and doubt.

Though arduous the journey, still the spirit,

Like a phoenix, rises from the ashes—

A testament to conquests bravely fought.

It tells of courage in the depths of pain,

Of growing strength, of gratitude so deep.

Where dwelled despair, now blooms resilience;

As every heartbeat whispers tales of hope,

Of trust, of promise, and of joy once more.

Laughter echoes where silence held its reign,

A lighter heart now pulses steadily—

The past consumed, and strength soars high again,

Boldly rising, finding its way anew.

So here I stand and at my body gaze…

I see a rose with petals bruised and torn,

But there wafts an essence, its fragrance sweet—

A soothing balm on every wound and tear.

With head held high, I turn to leave the past,

For life is rich and I embrace its smile.

By Maryalice Wood