A Dream Deferred . . .

















I came upon the poem by Langston Hughes today. I don't think I have heard it since high school but this evening, I realize what he meant when he describes unfulfilled goals,

"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?"

We may think our dreams die and just wither away but they don't. They linger out there . . . calling, taunting. Almost within our reach but never quite close enough to take hold of. But I will not be sorrowful over things I never had, I will be grateful that at least I had a dream.