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?