I like this poem because of the way the author compares the two different things they’re comparing. I also like how the author leaves me wondering what the main idea really is. It makes it more interesting.
Harlem 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?
