March of Will
I charge ahead with iron stride,
No room for doubt, no need to hide.
The goal in sight, the path is clear—
I’ll break through walls, I’ll face the fear.
Like soldier’s steel, I stand, I lead,
A sharpened edge, designed to speed.
I bend the rules, I shift the line,
To make the conquest wholly mine.
My mind is built on structure, force,
A system forged to stay the course.
I wield it swift, my weapon sharp,
Yet deep within, I feel the spark.
For though I crush what blocks my way,
A part of me is held at bay.
I see the fragile, small and pure,
The artist’s hand, the heart unsure.
But I can’t yield, can’t let it show,
My mission’s first—onward I go.
Yet there’s a part I keep inside,
That aches when beauty’s brushed aside.
I’ll never stop, I’ll reach the end,
Each challenge met, each rule I bend.
But still, beneath this iron will,
A softness calls me, quiet, still.
I hide it well, the part that’s weak,
That longs for moments small, unique.
But in the midst of war and flame,
I see the tender, feel the same.
So onward, forward, fast I go,
No slowing down, no hint of woe.
Yet somewhere, hidden deep within,
A softer soul fights not to win.