Highway Warden.

They told me life was a journey.

And I, the warden.

What they didn’t say…

was that some roads bend you,

some break you,

some leave you stranded, thumb in the air,

still no signal, no slowing down,

just silence and stares.

*

And here I am,

in a fluorescent vest of good intentions,

trying to direct what I don’t comprehend.

Trying to halt the chaos,

flag down fate,

wave purpose into place

like I’ve got the weight to command its direction.

*

But I don’t.

Let’s be real.

*

This highway takes no orders.

This life?

Doesn’t yield to your hunger for clarity.

It rolls on, even when you stall,

even when you fall,

even when you’re not ready at all.

*

I’ve stood here,

feet planted on white lines that crack

under the weight of decisions I can’t take back,

trying to reroute traffic that never once

asked for my map.

*

Trying to be the warden

of a road I didn’t pave,

Halting cars that don’t look my way.

*

I thought I could control it.

Thought if I planned enough,

read enough,

breathed deep enough,

I could shift the storm,

make the crash swerve,

make the damage skip my turn.

*

But now I see,

That even a traffic warden gets tired.

Even the one holding the signs

wants to throw them down,

wants to scream out loud,

“Take me with you.”

*

Because it’s lonely

on the shoulder of destiny,

watching others drive off

with their songs loud,

their windows down,

their laughter lifted by motion

while I stand….

safety vest glowing,

but heart dimming in slow erosion.

*

And I’m standing

on the edge of the highway, commanding nothing,

but still trying to guide

these cars, these lives,

these moments rushing by.

But I can’t quite be

the guide I dream,

the voice I need.

Nothing quite like the voice of God within.

*

So maybe… it’s time.

*

Maybe I stop trying to regulate the road.

Stop pretending I know where every turn goes.

Maybe I let go,

of the title, the role,

the pressure to know.

*

Maybe I step out of the part I never auditioned for,

and get into the damn car.

*

Not to flee.

Not to forget.

But to remember what it feels like

to move.

To groove.

To trust without proof.

*

To ride,

without tracing the route.

To live, not police it.

And step into the passenger seat….

Unclip the vest,

And stop guarding life like it’s a test.

*

As these cars drive past,

futures flashing too fast,

maybe it’s time I stop shouting from the side,

maybe it’s time

I, too,

hop in for the ride.