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?

Is there a difference between whispers and screams?
This bombastic expulsion of soul...

To ears who might listen, or eternal silence.
hearts and minds are far from control.

I realised why she walked so slow,
She never wanted to get anywhere.
And now I realise why you rush on past,
You never want to end up back where you were.

You fear that upon slowing down
The past would catch up to you,
Panting and hanging his head low,
Saying "It's taken me forever to find you!"
And you'd reply "Forever went too quickly."

If you keep walking in a straight line,
Holding up your head,
Eyes facing forward,
Arms swinging to keep up your pace,
And mind preoccupied by passing cars,
You won't end up back there.

Unless it's all a circle,
An unending loop,
And the faster you stride ahead,
The sooner you'll reach your end.

Clear off the bed
and come lie next to me
or lie with me
or crawl under these sheets
and die with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clear out your mind
and sink down low with me
or get high with me
or hold my hand
and lose some time with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clean up your act
and fall apart with me
or fall, apart from me
or fall, a part of me
and take some time to cry with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Clean out your car
and run away with me
or run to me
or put it in reverse
and go back to the start with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could get used to this

Cleanse your spirit
and embrace this pain with me
or brace for pain with me
or take a moment to put me back together
and just be with me, with me
or without
I'm used to it
but I could still get used to this

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?