so,
magic is tangible and 'real' is an agreed upon lie
maybe a pretty story wrapped in colorful tissue and shiny bows
trolls toil at tatting tales together
huddled they shiver under bridges leading to nowhere
light dancing brilliantly over the flowing streams
it is all a dream under this construction
daylight could make it solid, or melt it all away
a mirage of contorted proportions
by heated skies or watery eyes
the deepest of sighs and it fades away
what remains is the music, t he colors and touch
unseen by those who demand what's 'real' too much

nice :)