#AmericanWriters
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
I dream a world where man No other man will scorn, Where love will bless the earth And peace its paths adorn I dream a world where all
The night is beautiful, So the faces of my people. The stars are beautiful, So the eyes of my people. Beautiful, also, is the sun.
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams