The old woman struggles in her garden,
long days weigh heavy, the burden unforgiving.
The work is hard, the effort without end,
only the hate she grips to gives her the strength
to force herself on.
Her weathered body is tired, the mind still sharp.
A stream of thoughts, the constant thoughts,
an ever present reminder of it all.
Each step a great difficulty,
with nothing but the aid of a walking stick,
and the burning rage within.
The betrayals, the injustices she has endured,
anger burning deep down inside.
The hatred, a lifeline, something to cling to,
a fervent power that sees her through,
that holds her firm.
Fires of bitterness, her guiding light, her force,
her focus on the wrongs imposed.
Her son the greatest of all the betrayals.
She had put all her faith, and love, in his hands.
All her hopes, and dreams, had lain with him,
the master of deception.
Forgiveness holds no sway,
for the treachery suffered.
She will hold on until the last, gripping tightly.
Letting go, a victory to them all.
Never could she free herself
from the steady stream of lies and deceit
inflicted by those she should have trusted
and held so close.