Penny for a Poem

Ruthlessness

Compassion's chains, I break them free, no mercy's weight to hinder me.
With steeled resolve, I forge ahead, where softer souls would fear to tread.
In ruthless hands, decisions made, no hesitation, no crusade.
The weak may falter, doubt, and plead, but I press on with lightning speed.
Emotions culled, a barren field, no harvest reaped, no bounty yield.
In fallow heart, ambition grows, unfettered by empathy's throes.
The path I walk is lined with thorns, of broken dreams and muffled mourns.
Yet forward still, my feet march on, till every obstacle is gone.
In board rooms cold or battlefields, my iron will never yields.
For in this world of tooth and claw, the ruthless write unspoken law.
Some call it cruel, this hardened state, to sever ties with mankind's fate.
But in this ruthlessness, I find a clarity of soul and mind.
For in the end, when all is done, It's not the kind who've truly won.
The laurels rest on brows unbent, by mercy's weakening lament.
So let them judge, let history write, of how I've shunned the "wrong" for "right."
In ruthlessness, I've found my strength, and to myself, shown mercy's length.