His Dream Deferred
What say the man whose dream is deferred? What say he who embodies the words of Hughes? I cannot speak for his muse but I can speak for my representation. So speak now, dear friend, and tell us...speak:
A dream deferred does not dry up.
It sets root deep within the spirit,
piercing then suckling
on the protective core of a man's being
until that core,
like Hughes' sun wrought raisin,
dries
exposing his foundation
to an array of maladies.
A dream deferred does not fester like a sore.
It seeds and spreads with rapacious spirit.
Burrowing down from your thorn crowned head
to your pinioned feet.
You, dear Mercury,
will fly no more it says.
A dream deferred does not stink like rotten meat.
It does not crust.
It does not sag.
And no virus or parasite,
such as this,
would explode.
It grows to intertwine with every sinew.
Strangling your will
and turning eyes from the world
towards the pit unfilled by envisioned success.
Speak, it commands you!
Speak into the pit and hear the echoes!
What happens to a dream deferred?
Once bound to morose host
it cradles the helpless
and whispers doubt into their ears,
a lullaby for one
who will never awaken
to the realization
of the dream they deferred.