As I Grew Older

30 04 2007

Langston Hughes was an African-American poet during the early-mid 20th century, wrote a lot about rising up because of racial prejudice. Just got me thinking how you dream when you’re young but as your grow older they become less and less poignant, this poem is something that keeps me up:

As I Grew Older

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–
My dream.
And then the wall rose,
Rose slowly,
Slowly,
Between me and my dream.
Rose until it touched the sky–
The wall.
Shadow.
I am black.
I lie down in the shadow.
No longer the light of my dream before me,
Above me.
Only the thick wall.
Only the shadow.
My hands!
My dark hands!
Break through the wall!
Find my dream!
Help me to shatter this darkness,
To smash this night,
To break this shadow
Into a thousand lights of sun,
Into a thousand whirling dreams
Of sun!

 Langston Hughes

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