As you, like, 'like' it.

All the world's a screen,

And all the men and women, trans and prefer-not-to-say merely part players, viewers and voyeurs,

They have their edits and their selfies,

And one person in his/her/their time plays either no or many parts,  

Their acts being seven short videos. At first, the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms for all online to see, before she reverses the screen with which to soothe.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his enormous satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to phone-free school.

His friend, the scowling schoolgirl, hurling half wisdom won too soon, challenging all prophets.  And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' Inbox and an inken ode etched on skin she shall countenance not.

Then a game-based soldier,

Full of strange oaths bellowed into headsets and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, but slow to leave his seat, fair round belly premature grown,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the animated cannon's mouth. And then the justice,

In fair rounder belly yet with good capon lined,

With eyes severe, beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances oft ignored,

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well saved, a worldwide web too wide

For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, at times too loud for the channel and the bearn's bearn he raises. 

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound, cue wistful music. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history clip,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything...

...for posterity faithfully forged and preserved online for a pound of flesh.

Lead photo by Tom Sodoge on StockSnap