The Working Man

He worked hard both day and night
In a prison made not by bars but by life
Where each choice he made dragged him deeper still
Into a place he survived merely by force of will
Each day he waited for the bell to chime
Wishing he could control the hands of time
If only he could make a single wish
It would be to never again suffer through this
Every night next to his wife he would lay
Where he would close his eyes and pray
That the lord would help him make a way
For his wife and the child that was on the way
Alas his prayers seemed to be in vain
Because he would awake to more of the same
Until he opened a single piece of mail
That caused him to whoop and wail
Because he had submitted his very best
And managed to win the poetry contest
From that fateful day
His brain not his body began to pay his way