your soul’s pockets

Where were you going when you let go of the wheel,
before the glass frosted over with despair and dimmed your vision,
before you let them take you off your path,
with judgment and oppression and their own fear?

You can see that place inside the recesses of a heart long dormant,
in the channels of your mind that seldom flow freely and wild,
in the jewels that you carry in your soul’s pockets,
if only you turn your focus and seek the forgotten destination.

It is still there of course,
waiting for the chauffer of abandoned hope,
to turn the rusted key,
and drive.