No King of Mercy

Do you think the world is ruled by honest hands?

That men ascend through fate and pure demands?

No—power bends to those who shape the tide,

A throne is seized, not granted, nor implied.

A word in the right ear can shift the sky,

A whisper turns to steel when placed nearby.

A knife where none expect will carve the way,

To rise, one learns to bow before the play.

A king who trusts in love will meet his fall,

For love dissolves like mist upon the wall.

A man who leans on faith will break and bend,

And watch his kingdom burn at virtue’s end.

The lion does not beg to claim its feast,

It does not kneel before the lesser beast.

It takes, and in its taking, rules the land,

For strength, not pleading words, must guide the hand.

A wound ignored will fester into rot,

A ruler’s mercy earns what he forgot.

A promise holds no weight if sworn in vain,

What use are vows when blood runs down the drain?

They call me ruthless, cold, a man of stone,

Yet still they kneel, their voices but a moan.

They praise me with the fear laced in their breath,

For terror lingers long beyond one’s death.

You ask of love? It offers naught but dreams,

A fleeting warmth undone by sharper schemes.

What weight is passion to the mind that knows?

What strength is care where skill and wisdom grows?

For love is kind, but wisdom strikes with aim,

A fool in love and fools in books aren’t same.

The mind can weave a web where hearts will break,

And skill will triumph long after they wake.

You ask of peace? Peace is a gilded chain,

A moment’s breath before the knives remain.

A throne unguarded soon will taste defeat,

And kings who trust in peace will not compete.

Let others chase the dream of honor’s fate,

And drape themselves in banners sewn with hate.

A man who rules with kindness walks too late—

His hands are tied before he learns his weight.

Yet still… I wake to echoes in the night,

The ghosts of those I buried out of sight.

Their hollow voices ask if I was right—

If power is a prize or just a blight.

Was there a road unmarked by steel and stone?

A path less paved in blood and in bone?

But kindness is a king’s unguarded throne,

And mercy leaves the sword-hand weak alone.

A better man might lead with open hands,

Yet open hands are easier to brand.

A man who bows to mercy soon will stand

With daggers in his back from his own land.

So let the dreamers speak of righteous kings,

Let poets weave their tales of love and rings.

The crown is not for those who chase such things,

But for the ones who pull the iron strings.

A lie well-placed can build where truth destroys,

A blade unseen will serve a ruler’s poise.

For even men who speak with gentle voice

Must keep a dagger hidden in their choice.

You call me cruel, but still I stand above.

You name me heartless—yet my name they love.

What king has ever ruled through trust alone,

And lived to see his kingdom not dethroned?

A man must choose to conquer or to kneel,

For power is the weight of iron steel.

To reign is not to love, but to reveal

That fear alone can make the kingdom heal.

So let them scorn, let lesser rulers fall,

Let broken kings bewail their bitter call.

For I will stand where they have lost it all—

My hands unshaken, firm beneath the thrall.

The world remembers not the good, but strong,

Not those who dreamed, but those who played it long.

Such is the way for those who wish to rule,

The hand must stay firm, the heart must stay cruel.