Kill The Voice

Not with a crown, nor silver spoon,

But with dawns that break too late, too soon.

Not with the claim, "I should receive,"

But with the fire of those who believe.

Be grateful not just for gold or gain,

But for the storm, the sweat, the strain.

For in the dirt where few will tread,

Is where the seeds of wealth are fed.

Kill the voice that says, “I’m owed.”

Light your torch on gratitude’s road.

The world gives nothing—earn your keep,

Climb your way through valleys deep.

No one is promised a place at the top,

But those who grind and never stop

Will find that riches do not start

In pockets—but within the heart.

So wake with thanks, work with might,

Carry your dream through every night.

Not for the world to say you’re blessed—

But because you gave your very best.