“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear, not absence of fear.”
Mark Twain
She dreamed of springtime
When the flowers would bloom
And babies were born.
Would she live to see it?
The doctors said
She probably wouldn't,
But she was a fighter
From way back.
She'd fought for
Her freedom
From abusive parents
And later
From an abusive ex.
She'd fought through
Every weakness,
Growing stronger
And stronger,
As if in training
For what was to come.
Now she looked down upon
A fight like no other,
This for
Her very life,
And somehow she knew
She would triumph!
Whatever came
She would win!
Gently powerful portrait of endurance, where survival feels earned through a lifetime of hard-won strength,
drawing conviction from lived struggle, making the final hope feel believable rather than wished for.
A modern day Joan de Ark. Your image reminds me of the Afghan woman, Salima Mazari:, and several others from Afghanistan, Pakistan and Iran who have rallied against male domination and Sharia Law.
When women rule the world, it will be a much friendlier and safer place.
Your poem carries such heightened tenderness. The way you trace her long history of struggle makes her final resolve feel earned, almost inevitable. It’s moving how you show courage not as something sudden, but as something shaped over years of surviving what should have broken her. The closing affirmation: ‘Whatever came / She would win’ lands with real power. A beautiful tribute to the strength that grows in the shadows.
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drawing conviction from lived struggle, making the final hope feel believable rather than wished for.
When women rule the world, it will be a much friendlier and safer place.
Ron