Dream Deferred, 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?
---
I think that you're supposed to say that last part in a dramatic whisper. Because of the 48-hour readathon this weekend, I'm not sure whether I'll make it back to post links to other Poetry Friday entries. I'll be reading!
