Thursday, November 14, 2013

"Harlem" by Langston Hughes

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 it just sags
     like a heavy load.

     Or does it explode?

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