Like scenes reflecting off on a eye lid projection screen

Life's bright reality fades in an instant, dulled to distant memories

This time that we're in, time to begin, the now-time?

Reality exist only for the moment, a split instance

Yet, here in the present, its presence is the only existence we trust

But it won't last, it will come to pass, like every time-slice has before it

Nothing ever done still lives on, the reality is at best a illusion fooling the mind, a distraction from truth. A mire with slippery slopes to trap and hold back the weary.

Each moment's reality slips away, cannot stay, gone before we know it came

Leaving only traces in our memories clouded by smoke and mirrors making wants, needs, and desires meaningless except within the illusion, with in the now-time of the moment.

Polluted with the present reality, edited for digestibility

Then shone upon projection screens again in unending reflections contaminated by past and wrapped in futures, which never exist. And what do we call this surrealistic experience? "Life"