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Langston Hughes

Langston Hughes

To Certain

You sicken me with lies,
With truthful lies.
And with your pious faces.
And your wide, out—stretched,
mock—welcome, Christian hands.
While underneath
Is dirt and ugliness,
And rotting hearts,
And wild hyenas howling
In you soul’s wasteland.

#Americans #Blacks

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I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
The Negro Speaks of Rivers

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Bound No’th Blues

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A Dream Deferred

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He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
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Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
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