I work for a figure
Unknowing of my existence
Hours of my week
dictated by a concept
that someone had to make
brick and mortar

I live for beautiful words
The kind that flow 
like a river from my soul
The kind that inspire 
the timid young writer

I feel so constrained 
by that which I must do
and I cannot help but wonder
what more there may be
because for me this thing
seems never-ending,
ever-tightening