Paying the Price

Rolling through toll booths, the coins softly clink,

each sound a reminder of what we must think.

It’s strange how we pay, for the roads that we roam,

small tolls on this journey, a price for our home.

I watch as the barriers lift, just like dreams,

a passage to futures, where hope often gleams.

But still, as I pass, there’s a weight in my chest,

for the things that we sacrifice, seeking the best.

And coins in my pocket are more than just change,

they hold all the choices we make, vast and strange.