Matt Meade

A poem I wrote for Jane on Valentine’s Day.

The Death of Dreaming

When I was young I’d never fail
to still believe a fairy tale.
“When I grow up I’ll find the one;
a perfect love that’s never stale”.

A witty girl who’s also fun,
and had a smile like the sun;
a little nuts, but full of love,
with independence by the ton

When I grew up I learned to doubt
the happy-ever-after route.
I never found a girl like that
so I resolved to do without.

The girl I dreamed must not exist
who has the virtues on my list.
Was I a fool to aim so high
and dare to be an optimist?

I met a girl named Jane instead.
She killed my fairy tale dead.
I’ll never meet the girl I dreamed,
she ripped the thought out of my head.

The girl I dreamed was fun you see
but looking back, it’s clear to me
that my dream girl would seem so dull
when standing next to Jane Marie.

The girl I made up in my brain,
so beautiful I can’t explain,
would feel unsightly and ashamed
when standing in a room with Jane.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m quite the schemer.
My mind runs wild like dreamer.
I’m sharp, but couldn’t fathom Jane;
you just won’t get it till you’ve seen her.

The smile I dreamed of all along
was like the sun and shined as strong.
But it’s just yellow now to me
when Jane’s is like an angel’s song.

The girl I dreamed was very clever
that too is relative however.
She seems confused compared to Jane
who keeps me on my toes forever.

I wished for love, but my mistake.
She gives me more than I can take.
I don’t know what she sees in me,
am I still dreaming or awake?

Thank you God for making Jane.
My earthly mind did not contain
the hope to even dream her up,
so in your debt I will remain.