Langston Hughes and me

Dream Deferred By Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?
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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’ve asked myself that very question numerous times. I know more than once I’ve seen my hopes fade like the sun on a horizon. But I rose just like the sun refusing to accept my dream was deferred or over. I knew I was ready to share my story.

black-gloveBlack Glove by Lyn Crain

One single black glove left on the porch is all that is left a union of two.
The vivid, intense orange torch in their marriage flickered, now a black hue.
Angry words tossed into the flame, smothered immense passion.
Apologies spoken only sound lame, made the fire cold and ashen.
Violently shrugging away a touch, fighting a compulsion to flee.
Even a glance in his eye is too much. I must, Yes, I will be free.

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