Dead dreams still haunt my past self

I tend to speak ill of them

As if they could hear me 

Where do dreams go when they die?

Do they dissolve back into ideas

Wishful thinking left unchecked

Or do they disappear

Run away with the wind and make merry in the night

We know what happens when they are deferred 

How they slump into a drunken stupor

And lose the life they once had

If Langston Hughes knew what happened to dead dreams

The ones that are forgotten

On the eve of a new idea

Would he still believe in an impossible dream?