I held my dream
like a torch flame
licking my fingertips,
the heat of my own becoming

But dawn arrives
demanding more-
not just the spark that birthed it,
but the steady pulse to tend to it.

So I breathe in discipline,
muscle and marrow,
a promise to show up
when comfort whispers
"not today."

I drink deep from wisdom's well,
letting each lessons low-
cook my ambition into
unshakable resolve.

No longer content with mere arrival,
I plant seeds of strategy
in the fertile ground of persistence.
Each action a dripping faucet
filling reservoirs of possibility.

When doubt storms the horizon,
I stand steady-
a lighthouse fueled by habit,
a beacon sharpened by insight.

My success isn't finished;
it's a draft calling for revision-
a canvas begging for
bolder strokes.

So I ask for discipline to guard this gift,
and wisdom to multiply its light-
turning today's victory
into tomorrow's revolution.