The Careful Ache

They spoke of futures, bright and clean,

the words I used, a faded scene.

A coffee cup, a sugar packet,

the world they saw, a perfect jacket.

And I remembered the ascent,

the ladder climbed, the spirit bent.

The careful steps, the measured gain,

to stand alone in silver rain.

This pen, it cost a week of pay,

a trophy from that hollow day.

It sits inside a wooden box,

a key that fits no common locks.

The promotion came, the quiet prize,

reflected in my empty eyes.

It brought the office, cold and deep,

and stole the promises I'd keep.

I got what I had asked to find,

and left the rest of me behind.

A silent, slow, internal trade,

a life precisely, coldly made.