In the attic,
These angles
Of my beautiful portrait
Are terrifying,
Timeless and unchanging,
While I age and deform,
With every noble intent,
Every virtuous act,
I grow weary and wear,
Flesh tires and skin sags.

These two pictures of me,
And these two worlds,
Are destined to be one,
Without falsehood.
The meek shall inherit,
The corrupt will steal,
And none may be wiser.
The left hand of darkness,
Making its play for light,
No worlds willing in sight.

.

Images from.: https://petapixel.com/2013/08/28/reflections-portraits-of-the-elderly-seeing-their-younger-selves/