| Grief has a way of sitting with us long after the room grows quiet. It lingers in the empty chair, the poured‑out coffee, the habits that remain when the person we love is gone. Psalm‑shaped sorrow doesn’t rush us past that ache; it lets us name it. But sometimes God sends a small mercy—a moment, a sign, a reminder—that the story isn’t only about loss. This poem is about that moment. It’s about the way heaven leans close when our hearts break, the way peace slips in through the cracks, and the way love continues in a different light. The white dove becomes a picture of release, of hope, of the gentle truth that those we love are held in a freedom we can’t yet see. And in that truth, anger softens, grief shifts, and faith rises again. |
There’s a chair by the window where you used to sit.
Sunlight falls, but you ain’t in it.
Coffee’s cold, yet I still pour two—
some habits linger long after you.
I still hear your voice some nights,
soft as wind through the pines,
calling me from somewhere I can’t see,
somewhere just beyond my reach.
And a white dove flew this morning,
cut a line across the sky.
I stood there torn between
breaking down and wondering why.
I wanted to shake my fists at heaven,
ask Him why you had to go—
but that dove kept climbing higher,
like it knew what I don’t know.
You carried pain like a quiet storm,
smiled through it as if it were nothing more.
But I saw the weight behind your eyes,
heard the truth beneath your sighs.
Now I walk these roads alone,
but I’m not really on my own.
There’s a peace I can’t explain—
like your hand still in my hand.
And that white dove kept on rising,
through the clouds, through the blue.
Something broke inside me then,
and something mended too.
I still ache to hold you close,
still curse the day you had to leave—
but if that dove is where you’re flying,
then I’m learning how to believe.
Are you dancing now in the light?
Is your burden finally gone?
Do you laugh the way you used to
before the hurt came on?
I don’t understand the leaving,
but I’m starting to see this through—
if heaven’s where that dove is going,
then heaven’s where I’ll find you.
That white dove disappeared in light,
but it didn’t fade away.
It left a piece of something holy
I can feel today.
There are still tears in these hands,
but they’re not the same as before—
because I know you’re free in glory now,
and I’m not angry anymore.
So fly on, my love. Don’t look behind.
I’ll be alright in time.
That white dove showed me what I couldn’t see— you’re finally free…
and that’s enough for me.
