The artistic juxtaposition is the turning point
	where the real and unreal worlds diverge.
Or, seen from a slightly different view point,
	where these disparate worlds finally merge.

The artistic juxtaposition is the location of a furcation:
	a branching of the route of perception.
A zone to be alone in meditation on one's choice of destination -
	rough Reality or a balmy world of deception?

Reality's painful path is scattered
	with scores of scathing stumbling-stones,
		as rough and tough as unforgiving gravel,
so that the tender soul that tread, is battered
	till life's sores bring one to grumbling groans
		and life's perplexity gets one into quite a ravel.

Reality's path is a really perilous
	and coarse course to travel.
But Unreality's path is a relatively perilless
	discourse, with reams of dreams to unravel.

Reality's rugged route is a right dead end -
	one's remains to be interred in a distant mount.
But Fantasia's fanciful flight will send
	one to refresh at her rejuvenating fount.
Life's hardships nourish the urge to diverge
	into a world of make-belief.
Fantasies flourish and pent-up dreams emerge
	to give one a moment-brief's relief.

One must shed one's shell and finally be free,
	leaving life's heavy burdens behind,
in order to be sped into a spell of rapturous reverie
	and the uncharted depths of Mind.

In faith, one must set sail into seemingly vacant air,
	then sit back to let Caprice steer the helm
as one's ship traverses the heavenly thoroughfare
	on one's surreal sojourn into the unreal realm.

One needs sound navigational skill
	to set one's sail to the wayward gale.
And a few odd aids to whet one's will
	may well be found of some avail.

Fantasia is a mystical place in the mind,
	a place of healing, a heavenly haven.
A sanctuary so safe and securely confined,
	where Reality cannot scathe the craven.

Yes, there are times to concede one's inability
	to master those things which make one stumble.
I pity those who will not accede, through humility,
	to the lofty ranks of the humble.

They put on a show of foolish bravado
	- they will not foster a morsel of meekness -
and so, against their inner will, remain below.
	Their 'strength' turns out to be a weakness.

Indeed, the unenlightened are frightened by Fantasia's fantastic bounty :
	her gracious gifts of the unknown.
Little do they know how beneficent her offerings of unreality -
	instead they tread Reality's path of stone.
The closed mind fears foreign ideas and does not fancy fancy,
	and so stays 'safe' and securely sewn..........shut!

Through pain I have found this elusive spot
	that so many will never find.
But this does not surprise me a whole lot,
	as too many are just too blind.

Aided by rows of orbs that glow
	with artificial light
and a keen pair of eyes also,
	lending it supersensitive sight,
the owl comes out late
	on its nocturnal dinner flight,
to prowl and predate
	upon small creatures of the night.

The owl makes a tasty selection
	out of clock-work confectionery
to meet its stomach's predilection
	and so save itself going hungry.

Aided by the low and mellow glow
	of a lone lamp's light,
fanciful thoughts in perpetual flow,
	and a generous helping of insight,

I emerge once the world's noxious noisome noises abate
	and unfettered fantasies are free to take flight
and sit at my solitary desk to muse and create,
	inspired by the soothing stillness of the night.

I forage in desperation,
	amongst Fantasia's fair fare of fancy,
to feed my imagination
	and so save it suffering certain atrophy.

To steal a mock-work meal,
	owl's stomach must be really empty.
I deal in the unreal
	for I cannot stomach Reality.