Echoes Main

Why Fades A Dream?
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
 

Why fades a dream?
            An iridescent ray
Flecked in between the tryst
            Of night and day,
Why fades a dream? -
Of consciousness the shade
Wrought out by lack of light and
            made
Upon life’s stream,
Why fades a dream?
 
That thought may thrive
            So fades the fleshless dream;
Lest men should learn to trust
            The things that seem,
            So fades a dream,
That living thought may grow
And like a waxing star-beam glow
            Upon life’s stream –
            So fades a dream.

 

Why Ends A Life?
            A brilliant sparkle
Flashing into creativity
            Into the swirl of innovation
Why ends a life?
            A concoction
Of carbon and wonder
            Created upon divine touch
Why ends a life?

The Poet and His Song
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

A SONG is but a little thing,
And yet what joy it is to sing!
In hours of toil it gives me zest,
And when at eve I long for rest;
When cows come home along the bars,
And in the fold I hear the bell,
As Night, the shepherd, herds
his stars, I sing my song, and
all is well.

There are no ears to hear my lays,
No lips to lift a word of praise;
But still, with faith unfaltering,
I live and laugh and love and sing.
What matters yon unheeding
throng? They cannot feel my
spirit's spell, Since life is
sweet and love is long, I sing
my song, and all is well.

My days are never days of ease;
I till my ground and prune my
trees. When ripened gold is
all the plain,
I put my sickle to the grain.
I labor hard, and toil and
sweat, while others dream
within the dell; But even
while my brow is wet,
I sing my song, and all is
well.

Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot,
My garden makes a desert
spot; Sometimes a blight upon the tree
Takes all my fruit away from me;
And then with throes of
bitter pain Rebellious
passions rise and swell;
But -- life is more than fruit or
grain, And so I sing, and all is
well.

Poet On A Corner
by Austin Curry
(inspired by Paul Laurence Dunbar's "The Poet & His Song")

A poet’s job is definitely not grand,

Yet it’s so hard, when on demand,

People asking for poems, not allowing time,

For me to make them really fine

When the day has taken its toll,

And time will tell,

I write a poem from my soul, and all is well.

Man comes up, five, make it quick, he says to me,

I think to myself, seriously???

But when time is finally in my control, once night has fell,

I write a poem from my soul, and all is well.