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.

Good action, good effects, moving story, awesome tone.

(The dialog is from an authentic 1861 Civil War love letter.)

Matt, his hair, like shit…..
It makes me really hate my life….
A crotch atop his head…

-Jason Honea

Put on the right mask,
and get treats when you ask.

Play evil tricks,
when you don’t get your fix.

Be someone you’re not,
and you’ll never get caught.

But at the end of the night,
you’re not in the clear,
when you’re all out of fight,
you still face the mirror.

Saint’s Day never came…

-Matt Meade

The Door in the Dark

In going from room to room in the dark,
I reached out blindly to save my face,
But neglected, however lightly, to lace
My fingers and close my arms in an arc.
A slim door got in past my guard,
And hit me a blow in the head so hard
I had my native simile jarred.
So people and things don’t pair any more
With what they used to pair with before.

-Robert Frost

The Dragonfly and The Water Beetles

Once, in a little pond, in the muddy water under the lily pads, there lived a little water beetle in a community of water beetles. They lived a simple and comfortable life in the pond with few disturbances and interruptions.

Once in a while, sadness would come to the community when one of their fellow beetles would climb the stem of a lily pad and would never be seen again. They knew when this happened; their friend was dead, gone forever.

Then, one day, one little water beetle felt an irresistible urge to climb up that stem. However, he was determined that he would not leave forever. He would come back and tell his friends what he had found at the top.

When he reached the top and climbed out of the water onto the surface of the lily pad, he was so tired, and the sun felt so warm, that he decided he must take a nap. As he slept, his body changed and when he woke up, he had turned into a beautiful blue-tailed dragonfly with broad wings and a slender body designed for flying.

So, fly he did! And, as he soared he saw the beauty of a whole new world and a far superior way of life to what he had never known existed.

Then he remembered his beetle friends and how they were thinking by now he was dead. He wanted to go back to tell them, and explain to them that he was now more alive than he had ever been before. His life had been fulfilled rather than ended.

But, his new body would not go down into the water. He could not get back to tell his friends the good news. Then he understood that their time would come, when they, too, would know what he now knew. So, he raised his wings and flew off into his joyous new life, free as the wind!

Submitted by K.S. of Chicago Illinois

It takes two years to make a friend,
It takes two weeks to learn it.
It takes five days to strike a match,
And accidentally burn it.

-Matt Meade

A lone samurai tipped his hat against the sun.

Despite the impossible challenges he had faced the war was won and he was returning home victorious to hang up his sword. He had traveled far and the impossible odds were long behind him. To traverse a single familiar road was the only thing standing between him and his harmony now, his home.

The wind danced throught the cherry blossoms and a single ray of light shined down through the clouds. He thought of his accomplishments during the war and how he had honored his Master, he lived to serve. He wished to have one last dance with his sword on this perfect day.

He was a master swordsman and kata came to him without thought. His cuts were swift and clean. A crane flew overhead and in a moment of inspiration he spun and drew his sword, it was such a precise stroke the road before him split in two and for a moment he stood frozen at the fork.

He lost his usual composure, this was amazing. With the sharpness of his cut he had changed his world. What was once a single path before him was now two. Pride welled up from within him for this one perfect cut, the best he had ever known.

Could it have been luck? He had always been taught not to question the clean draw of a sword but this was new, and he was too curious. He sheathed his katana and prepared for another draw. One swift flash of his blade and he had done it again. Now three roads lay before him and he felt invincible.

What a gift, behind him was the war, he had ended. Before him was the road home. But now by the sharpness of his cut there were not one but two new paths. What adventures could lay in wait there? Seeing how he had cut his own destiny into the land he swelled with pride again and prepared his sword once more.

His sword danced in the setting sun, again and again he split the road. Time seemed to stand still. Over and over his blade danced across the paths before him until he stopped, out of breath. He smiled as he admired his handiwork.

He stood at the crossroads of a thousand paths. He peered down them as far as he could see in every direction. What could await him down each? A great sadness struck him as he realized he could not explore them all in one lifetime. All of these possibilities and he would only be able to experience a handful. Would he ever make it back to the crossroads at all? He wept.

His sadness turned to confusion as his eyes searched the roads all the way to the horizon. Some seemed more fair than others and some seemed dangerous, but he could not see their ends. Perhaps an inviting path would turn for the worse, and perhaps it was the more dangerous paths that led to salvation. How could he know which path led to his enlightenment and which led to his corruption?

He had to clear his mind, he must solve this puzzle. He sat and began to meditate on the situation. After a few moments his eyes flashed open in realization and he stood. Terror crept into his heart as he spun, franticly searching. Which was the road to his home, his balance, his place of peace? He was unable to discern which was the path that he had been traveling that morning, or for that matter which led back to the war. He cried out in frustration and fear.

A great shame swept over him. He had accomplished the impossible when he won the war but was unable to walk down the simple path that followed, a simple task destroyed by the sharpness of his cut. He stood at the center of a prison he had proudly crafted himself and longed to have his familiar path back.

He sat to meditate again on the answer, to call up the path in his mind that was so familiar to him that morning. But he was furious and confused and sad and ashamed, and could not concentrate in this state. He paced back and forth staring down the crossroads in anger. He screamed in frustration as tears ran down his scarred face.

To his left was a solid stone and to his right a willow tree danced in the wind. He drew his sword and prepared to break it over the stone when he stopped dead in his tracks. A new facet of this terrible trap revealed itself. As he stood there awash in his emotions, he realized that he was never alone on the road, there were always dangers. Not only was he lost, but now his ruin could approach from any direction. Worse still it was getting dark.

-Matt Meade

It starts off slow but it’s gaining fast,
Catching up with the distant past,
Things won’t ever really be the same.

Two old friends have finally met,
They never had they both regret,
They call a draw and start another game.

In the darkness of your porch,
I see so clearly by the torch,
That hangs upon my lips like your new name.

And now I know I never knew,
The feeling that I have for you,
I thought I did but you make that seem tame.

-Matt Meade