Tag Archives: dreams

Langston Hughes – reminding me of my dreams.

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In the Spirit of Black History Month, I’m pulling up my favorite poem of all time. To every aspiring artist, struggling student, and full – yet unfulfilled – laborer, I present to you a poem that transcends age, race, and gender and makes us question the fate of our dreams and aspirations.

Harlem

BY LANGSTON HUGHES

What happens to a dream deferred?
      Does it dry up
      like a raisin in the sun?
      Or fester like a sore—
      And then run?
      Does it stink like rotten meat?
      Or crust and sugar over—
      like a syrupy sweet?
      Maybe it just sags
      like a heavy load.
      Or does it explode?

Pipe Dreams

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Hi guys! Its been a couple of weeks since my last post. I have totally been slacking, but I had several good reasons. Lets just say that it has been a tough month. We all have them. Things go awry, the trouble trio pays you a “friendly” visit, and it is almost all you can do to not go crazy! But, I felt inspired and jotted down this little entry. It has one foot in fact and the other in fiction. I’m not going to tell you which parts, though. That would be cheating.

THERE ARE DAYS WHEN I FEEL IN CONTROL. The world is okay, I sort of know what I’m doing, and I halfway have my act together. But then there are the other days; the days when it seems as though my sanity is hanging on by a thread. Days when the only thing I want to do is crawl under my heavy covers, black out the windows until there is nothing but swallowing darkness, and huddle, hidden from the world. The fatigue is oppressive. Nothing seems worthwhile, other than that sweet evocative darkness and the softness of my pillow. And sleep.

For in sleeping, we dream.

A heavy weight presses down on my chest every moment of every day. It nags at me, squeezes every ounce of my strength, and still demands more of me. It is the weight of responsibility. I’m not sure that it is something that I handle. It eats away at me, devouring me, reducing me to a husk of what I thought I was. Perhaps I was only fooling myself. Perhaps all that ever truly existed of me was this near-empty shell, this slovenly, useless piece of flesh, driven by a need for self-satisfaction. Instant gratification. Perhaps, I never truly EXISTED before. My hopes, dreams, aspirations, likes, dislikes, the things that stirred my blood, roused my soul, all pipedreams.

Oh, but we are back to dreams.

The only place where I have ever truly LIVED was in my dreams. But these were mere fantasies and delusions that powered the vacuous form of my existence and artificially filled it, lest it collapse within itself. Therefore, in dreaming, I exist.

But in dreaming of you, I thrive.

So now, let me lay down my head and dream of you. Let me find myself in your confidence, drink in the hope and ecstasy of promises for the future. This darkness will pass and I will not cower from all that seeks to wear me down. But let the darkness pass tomorrow. For tonight, I will cling to my pillow and revel in bittersweet dreams that allow me to hold you close. It will suffice.

Sincerely,

The Dreamer, St. Anne’s Community, Room 302

P.S. Just one more day…