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