The Dream is not Deferred

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Don’t you dare claim Langston’s dream
His hope was meant for all of us.
His was the belief of a child learning to read,
The smile of an adult pursued for their debts
Ducking and diving, necessarily hidden
Then learning, at last!, the debt is somehow cleared.
His was the striker’s hope
His was the rebel’s thought of triumph.
But you, who claim Langston now,
The hope you squandered was never yours to give away
There was no heroism in your departure,
Just the greed, slug-like of a sexually avaricious man
Who makes himself big from leaving others small,
And the tears of the woman whose life you ruined.

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