A moment on this Earth to live, to die,
as real and unrelenting as a dream;
phenomena and phantoms pass us by,
as empty of importance as they seem.

We are by choice beneath illusion’s sway,
our shadowed spirits subject to a whim –
each phantom a reflection, in its way,
upon a mirror desolate and dim.

One moment we are hidden in a crowd,
another we go lonely to the grave;
but ere we don the ceremonial shroud,
we glimpse the bright reflection that we crave:
that phantoms, hidden by the dream-world’s mist,
reveal a fellow dreamer’s lips when kissed.