Price of Passage

Coins drop like anchors, heavy and slow,

a toll booth stands there, a price for the road.

Each glint of metal, each clink a regret,

watching tired eyes, promises unmet.

The collector's gaze tells tales unspoken,

of endless days spent counting the tokens.

I pay my way through this metal embrace,

as traffic lights flicker, fading my pace.

Behind the glass, stories slip away,

remnants of journeys that won’t stay.

And in every glance shared, a weight to bear,

a fleeting connection hangs in the air.