recently in my change of life i wandered to a different part of the book store, leaving the religion section behind this time. i bought a poetry collection of langston hughes. hughes i remember from my college studies as he was one writer that "i got".. (even though i'm not black or at any level oppressed.) i loved his jazz feel to his poetry & never felt it was trying to impress me with overthought just honest reflection and emotion.. maybe i'm feeling down now and a bit beaten so it works for me. today i'm sharing this poem from hughes call "as i grow older." i know contextually we're not in the same place, but it feels the same.. that's the beauty of art.

As I Grow 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!