dreams deferred

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 is just sags 
like a heavy load.
 
Or does it explode?
                               Langston Hughes (Selected
Poem, p. 268)
 
Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a
broken-winged bird that cannot fly.
                               Langston
Hughes
__________________________________
 
When I was young I used to dream
the dreams of a boy
a product of the west
 
I dreamed of being a cowboy
a soldier
 
I dreamed of being, as I grew older
an athlete
the high school star
with the letter on his sweater
one of the “guys”
who all the girls would swoon over
 
I dreamed of being a super star pastor
of huge churches packed with people
of writing books
and being known
and respected, even admired
 
but dreams get deferred
 
life happens
mistakes are made
 
blooming late
blooming fast 
scoliosis
esteem issues
an impulsive nature
introversion
 
I was no star
I had my moments of success
But moments of abject failure too
 
Moments when I was a leader
And moments when I was an ass
 
Dreams deferred
A person just getting through
Following the breadcrumbs of God
Stumbling, falling, getting up
Stumbling forward again
 
But dreams remain
The dream of love
The dream of friendships
The dream that at some level I can contribute something
That will help
Something that will last
 
Dreams remain
Dreams of publishing a book
Dreams of being a person who helps others
Of nurturing my little church
 
And dreaming I keep moving 
Left foot, right foot, left foot breath
 
And when I stop dreaming, I am done
When there are no dreams
Life is over
 
We need dreams
 
Which is why it is so deadly
For us to defer dreams
Through racism
And systematic oppression
And poverty wages
And the abuse of privilege
 
If I with all my privilege struggle to hold on to my
dreams
What must it be like for that black person
Who wakes up each day to poverty
Whose children go to substandard schools with few resources
Whose must do 2 or 3 jobs to pay the rent and feed a
family
 
Who must fear those who are sworn to protect
Who must wonder, every time the lights of a cop car flash
‘am I going to get out of this alive?”
 
What happens to those dreams
Crushed beneath a knee/
Squeezed off in a choke hold?
Eliminated in a hail of bullets?
 
Do they wither?
Do they fester and stink, growing foul?
Does the pain pile on pain pile on pain
 
Until it all explodes?
 
Ah Lord
Helps us to have dreams
Help us to hang on to dreams
But above all
Help us to support the dreamers
Who come our way
Help us to nurture, and comfort the broken winged bird
Until it flies