Worthless Masterpiece

I am a Masterpiece created from Albert Bierstadt himself.

My personality and presence both breathtaking just as he planned.

Admires would pay top dollar to attain me, to flaunt me as the trophy I am.

Oh but so little do they know, as they stare at me in awe of my beauty.

Truthfully I've been touched to many times to even be worth a dime these days.

To think that he was a man whose job was to protect me a guard of my security found himself griping on to my untouched mountains pieces of curiosity and lust fall from beneath his grimy nails tumble down my canvas and wedges itself in the frame of me forever unmoved.

A reminder of my new found worthlessness.

So worthless even my imitations hold more value than I.

Trying to duplicate my beauty their mountains not quite as high and their waters not quite as blue. Their mirroring only causes hate.

Hate for being at such high admiration, such high worth, such high expectation.

If only I could have been created at the hands of a young school boy, or carved into stone by a cave man.

If only I were caged in the mind of young Albert.

Never to be illustrated upon, never to be sought after, never to be looked after, never to be curious towards, never to be explored upon, never to be exploited upon.

Never, Never, Never to be anything.

Just a thought,

a glimpse of Gods talent one to be remembered but never tangible.

I am a worthless masterpiece with cracked paint and a withering canvas.

With this thick piece of dark past wedged between my frame and beauty placed upon me.

One which you cannot see.

Yet still unmoved and unforgettable to me.