The Man in the Frame

The Man in the Frame

He sits in shadow and light,

A soul caught between time and dream,

The lines on his face tell stories,

Of love he has yet to find.

I call him the man in the frame,

A whisper from somewhere beyond,

Eyes that seem to remember me,

Even though we have not met.

His name comes softly, like a secret,

One carried on the wind at dusk,

Michael, the sound feels right,

It rolls like comfort in my heart.

He waits where the seasons meet,

Where autumn sighs into spring,

By a quiet sea that holds its calm,

And waves that kiss the sand like hope.

One day I’ll walk that way,

Past the old stone wall and the turning gate,

He’ll be there, smiling as if he knew,

That love was never late, only patient.

And when our eyes meet at last,

The frame will fade, the drawing will breathe,

For some souls are drawn before they live,

And find each other when the time believes.