Picture
A picturesque
Picture perfect
Photograph
The edges are covered with a
Thin layer of dust,
All from being passed
From person to person
From eye to eye,
Heart to heart
But the picture itself
Was left untouched, untainted,
Pure,  
If only by sheer luck,
Or maybe through its own will,
It's maintained it's own vibrancy,
It's own beauty
For all the luckiest people in the world
To get to see,
For, inside the white frame
Of the frame
Is the paragon of life
With blossoming colors
That would cause real life butterflies
To appear out of thin air
Almost like magic,
Magic similar to the mystery
The unanswered question posed by what's in their hand
That keeps them up at night,
Unable to sleep,
And when they do reach a restful state,
Their thoughts are clouded
In almost the same way the frame is
By the beauty they witnessed
The epitome of a masterpiece,
The shocking, unbelievable proof
Of a land Mother Nature created
That was absolutely perfect
Now, most may find a place like this
Simply not true
But that's only because
They haven't seen a picture of you.