What's it all about?

Toll tale

The toll is a tale of what
you did along the road,
after he put you there,
because the toll-taker wants
your every word down to
the last pebble you rolled across.

The toll-taker's long and patient
for the short road he let you take.
Because, every road's a one-way
dead-ending on his booth,
rutted here and there,
pitted with holes and
laid with stones from
grits and hen eggs to
elephant-head rocks, and
lengthened with cloverleafs,
diversions, detours and paths,
but only touching, never crossing,
all the other roads.

You're here at the dead-end,
worn-out and gutted from
this pay as you go trip
because you make the tale
as you travel, and
you've learned long ago,
there's no reverse on this one-way.

Sing the tale because it's the end.
Cry the tale because it's over.
Scream the tale because it hurts.
Laugh the tale for joy of the trip.
Love the tale for those you knew along the way.
Let the tale sink into the depths of your soul,
when you know he rode along.

The toll-taker smiles,
swings open the gate,
slipping you through the booth
as you discover it's
the same old road
on the other side with
a slicker, smoother surface,
a toll-taker's tale rewrite,
never a turn-around, but always
an accelerated reversion.