#Americans #Blacks
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
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—
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
been scared and battered. My hopes the wind done scattered. Snow has friz me, Sun has baked me, Looks like between 'em they done
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Democracy will not come Today, this year Nor ever Through compromise and fear. I have as much right
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
I live on a park bench. You, Park Avenue. Hell of a distance Between us two. I beg a dime for dinner—
From Christ to Ghandi Appears this truth— St. Francis of Assisi Proves it, too: Goodness becomes grandeur
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow… I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other ni… By the pale dull pallor of an old…
I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,