It's Where Unicorns Die

In the inner space of yew and weeping willows and of oaks of wonder

Threadbare shifting light and the drifting shadows, of a mind asunder

'tis where every reverie waits, conjured by the lens of a phantom eye

So serenely alluring, but the dream is bait, for it's where Unicorns die

Will-o'-the-wisp creeps, from the miasmic marsh, onto the forest floor

Hiding its secretive undergrowth in a sidling, luminous shroud of hoar

Enchanted woodland, where the illusive fairies might choose to dwell

Regales in the unreality, of those lost in the trees, with tall tales to tell

Expectancy prevails, with a distant din, beyond the murmurous leaves

Under its spell you're lured, to where only the subconscious perceives

Never lingering for long, for in the sham of the day it's a virtual dream

In the chthonic hours though, the nightmares have an insidious theme

Charmed by the idyllic pretence, but now the unseeable sun is setting

On the fading forest floor the hunt is on and your palms are sweating

Run and hide, for you will need an elusion, now the illusion is fraught

Nothing sane rides in the night, 'cept for the passing of an oneironaut

Stampeding white mares crash onto barbed blades, in concealed pits

Driven to their death, by hagridden wranglers at the end of their wits

In the eerie enchanted forest, where will-o'-the-wisp will eternally lie

Escape if you can, for in the bleakest reverie, it's where Unicorns die