My Dream

After certain events which occurred this past weekend, this poem came to mind this morning:

A Dream Deferred
by Langston Hughes

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?

I am hoping that my dream, which has been festering for quite some time will come to pass in the coming months. I'd rather think of it as becoming sweeter with age than rotting in the sun...