Sunday, May 12, 2013

Suicide's Note -- Langston Hughes




The calm,
Cool face of the river
Asked me for a kiss.






That was a short one, so here's another by Langston Hughes (1902–1967):

Harlem


 
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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