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

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?
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