It is hard to make another entry about something else knowing that so many who lost children, wives, husbands and parents at Virginia Tech are still grieving. People in other parts of the country and the world may forget (the media will most definitely forget), but those of us from Virginia and those of us with a Virginia Tech connection never will forget what happened a week ago today.
I am thus continuing with my fourth poetry entry. I am planning eight more, but due to what happened, I will probably be posting poems for a while.
Today's entry, which is dedicated to those who lost their lives at Virginia Tech, is the famous poem "Harlem," written in 1951, by the great African-American poet Langston Hughes (1902-1967), who has been immortalized on an American postage stamp.
"Harlem"
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?
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