strange journey

what marks the border of the true and real
is not a line nor even one small stake
nor yet a stream in which harsh thirst to slake
we aren't equipped to understand the deal
like condemned villains at their final meal
we hope from this bad dream sudden to wake
and find that all was just a sad mistake
how much then we would weep and laugh and squeal
yet here's the fact between the false and true
we find no marker find no borderline
the world that lies before us has not changed
no startling monsters at once come in view
there's no coarse symbolism to refine
the sane face the same place as the deranged