Dorian’s picture maybe not of oils, 
What if it was of flesh and blood,
Waiting in the wings, to bide time? 

Time for the eyes to dim, 
Years when cheeks will sag,
Skin dull, cells hasten to die. 

Without warning the aged you,
Moves to center stage to wrap
Itself around a reluctant victim. 

Only then does the Gray story
Reveal its truth to those who see
A different face in the cracked mirror.