A Dream Deferred

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 is just sags

like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

—Langston Hughes

Time and again, I am drawn to the poetry of Langston Hughes. This wonderful poet of the Harlem Renaissance speaks in a language common to us all, transcending race and time.