I woke before the morning did,
eyes open to a silent sky—
the clock whispered responsibility,
but my blanket held me tighter
than any promise I had made.
“I’ll rise in five,” I told myself,
negotiating with the dawn.
The pillow felt like destiny,
the mattress like a loyal friend—
and so I drifted back
into the soft betrayal of sleep.
Now the sun stands high and bold,
and I stand guilty in its light.
Lesson plans waiting.
Students trusting.
A calling greater than my comfort.
Lord,
You see this fragile will of mine—
the tug between purpose and pillow,
between fire and fatigue.
Help me, please.
Turn my laziness into discipline,
my delay into determination.
Teach my feet to move
when my heart hesitates.
Make me rise not just from bed,
but from excuses.
Let me teach with passion
even if I woke in weakness.
Let my class feel energy
even if I fought gravity this morning.
Tomorrow,
when the alarm calls my name,
remind me who I am—
not a servant of sleep,
but a teacher with a mission.
Lord,
make me diligent,
make me steady,
make me rise.
