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Oct 2015
I know what happens to a dream deferred.
Rather than dry up
or ooze like a festering sore
it yellows, then browns
then falls slowly to the ground
like leaves in the cold.

Dreams deferred do not smell
of rotten meat, or a syrupy sweet
but of cherry blossoms
and people hurrying down the street
sharing silence or words
with unnoted glances in between.

A dream deferred does not sag
like a heavy load
or even explode.
Instead it spreads
like moonlight.
It takes hold
and does not let go.
A poem inspired by langston hughes and his poem Harlem, and by my own personal experiences.
Anwar Francis
Written by
Anwar Francis  Louisiana
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