Old games of chance are what remain
Of designs shaped, all made in vain
All dice were thrown and lots were cast,
That was the life my soul held last.
The trace of what was once and died,
What lived and failed at last, but tried.
Out from within that shadow, I am born,
Now come to be again on this new morn.
What may remain for me ahead,
Rattles of another’s long lost dread.
Echoes of long cold roads and darkened nights,
Racing away, gone, at the sun’s first lights.
Desire and needs all left to rust,
As I clutch onto this new dust.
Hungering no more for, I cannot recall,
Onto wonder of, what, my new eyes fall?
Ever-far from first simple home,
To ever-distant, all alone.
Come to see a path emerge and am flung,
Now go! A new life’s journey has begun.
By Alex Valentine
Kern Valley State Prison
