The Picture Frame

 The Picture Frame

I hold the scents you cannot smell,

I hold the secrets you cannot tell,

I hold the world you cannot touch, 

I hold the words you cannot call, 

I hold so much, 

Yet nothing at all

When people pass, they say, “What a nice picture,”

As if I am invisible, 

The picture gets the glory, the frame gets none, 

The picture is proud, while I am miserable, 

I am the one that brings this empty picture to life, 

The rocks in the picture as black as night, 

The snow as gray as the tip of a silver knife, 

The outline of my beautiful frame is spruce-brown with swirly designs, 

There is no frame in all the lands with wood so very fine, 

I hold the scents you cannot smell, 

I hold the secrets you cannot tell, 

I hold the world you cannot touch,

I hold the words you cannot call, 

I hold so much, 

Yet nothing at all

Do you ever feel like a picture frame or like the only reason you have any glory is because you are holding the famous picture? You don't get any glory, you "picture" does. I hope this poem will help express that you are not alone and everyone feels the same way some time or another.