NDE, By Brian37

Tis the switch
On the set
On to off
Last tiny white dot

The 8 millimeter
Has jumped the reel
The filament
In the bulb

Has popped
Into the bright white
Only to shrink
And disappear

The reel
Brings us family
Memories
Of rotations past

From the toys
We played with
To the spouses
We marry

Our sisters and brothers
Our mothers,
Our grandparents
And fathers

Our shortfalls
Our success
All on this reel
Of illusion

Sometimes
Pulled back
We are and wake up
Sometimes not

In every case
Such enticing illusions
Are just that
Illusions

It is the last
Desperate action
Of the brain
To find comfort

A mere spasm
A product of evolution
In which we replace
With placebo superstition

(end)

Noony's other post inspired this poem. It states the obvious that it is merely our brain dumping out it's filling cabinet. Our neurons bombard our visual cortex as a spasm which makes our memories seem real mixing with the white light.

Clinical and mundane, but certainly much better an explanation than making up a non existent after life.