Alan W. Jankowski Poems

I walk down a broken street in search of my Promised Land,
I'm on a mission from God and my God's name is Heroin.
In the distance I can hear the gunfire,
I'm in a holy war, my sergeant's named desire.
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Sounds of yelling from a row house blare,
No one hears, does anyone care?
The yelling soon turns into a fight,
But no one hears under darkness of night.
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Of all the things you've given to me,
As proof that the best things really are free,
If I had to narrow it down to one,
It would be the birth of our only son.
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You asked me if I think of you,
You know, my Love I always do,
And even though I can't be there,
I want you to know I'll always care.
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Party favors do not a party make,
Nor that fancy bakery cake,
It's not the table set so fine,
Nor that bottle of expensive wine,
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Nothing in life is guaranteed,
Of this lesson I should take heed,
For what life gives it can surely take,
What a difference a year can make.
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What is the price of a childhood lost?
And who is the one to pay the cost?
For the child who's often left alone,
And forced to grow up on their own,
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If I called you up in the middle of the night,
To tell you something is just not right,
How would you act, what would you do?
Would you take the time to talk me through?
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I often wonder if what I feel,
Is just an illusion or something real,
For when these feelings begin to start,
I wonder if they'll break my heart,
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Thinking about the loves of the past,
All the loves that didn't last.
All my loves of yesterday,
I wonder where they are today,
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