#AmericanWriters
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
I sat there singing her Songs in the dark. She said; 'I do not understand The words’.
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—
Well, son, I’ll tell you: Life for me ain’t been no crystal… It’s had tacks in it, And splinters, And boards torn up,
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!
To fling my arms wide In some place of the sun, To whirl and to dance Till the white day is done. Then rest at cool evening
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
Because my mouth Is wide with laughter And my throat Is deep with song, You do not think
