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?
--Langston Hughes
Langston Hughes is possibly one of the sources of my political liberalism, what I have. Everything he writes is TIGHT, controlled. And sad. Dang, Hughes poetry is SAD.
I don't remember when I wrote this one down. I'm thinking I must have had a literature class where he was included, somewhere along the way. Pre-mission. It must have been. I can't remember the class, but the poetry has stayed with me.
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