Each moment has a truth that can be caught,
In picture, memory, or written word,
So even when the context is forgot,
The meaning still is there to be inferred.

So even though I lived too late too see
Just who was darling as the buds of May,
That is the least important part to me;
What lingers is what Shakespeare felt that day.

And yet, before you share your truth, take heed:
All things leave traces in this day and age.
Like Frankenstein, some day your heart may bleed
For what you made in hubris, fear, or rage.

As long as engines search and chats roulette,
Your truth has life upon the internet.

Inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet XVIII: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?“