Best Vigil Poems
Hold Not A Sad Vigil For Me
Hold not a sad vigil for me
Born of flesh and blood, once was free
Where my soul went, a better place
I ran Life's mysterious race.
Now having taken my last breath
Spirit passed through, cold hands of death
Beg, when I am laid in cold grounds
Earth hears, no heartfelt weeping sounds.
In Life's gift, I came to this world
To another realm, soul is hurled
There exists, no more evil lies
Only Light, Sun and gleaming Skies.
Once settled, saying prayers for you
Those that I love, evil ones too
This final message, truth stands clear
I enter smiling, with no fear.
Do not stand at my grave and weep* (1)
Instead pray my soul, Lord will keep
My grave, merely a marking place
To delay what Time will erase.
Hold not a sad vigil for me
Born flesh and blood, once I was free
Where my soul went, a better place
I ran Life's mysterious race.
Robert J. Lindley, 4-27-2018
Rhyme, (Lin, 8's)
Tribute poem, inspired by Elizabeth Frye's great poem,
titled- "Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep"
found at this link,
https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/do-not-stand-by-my-grave-and-weep-by-mary-elizabeth-frye
NOTE-
*(1)- Verse and Title from Elizabeth Frye's great poem of the same name.
This poem is a written tribute to her memory and great poem....
Categories:
vigil, art, death, dedication, deep,
Form:
Rhyme
The Vigil (Octodil)
Late through the night
A flame burns oil.
He sits with weary eyes
In vigil by the bed.
She lies supine; soft is her breath,
Peaceful, serene her pallid face.
He sleeps; she breathes no more.
Oil-starved the flame goes out.
Categories:
vigil, death,
Form:
Verse
As moonbeams settle softly on her face,
lay bare the gaunt and haggard visage there,
a woman whose whole life was spent in care
for those who ran and won another race.
Those stippled hands, the measure of her grace,
her shriveled arms, now wasting in despair,
her saddened eyes so sorrowful and spare,
a broken soul who cannot keep apace.
Wilting now, her slender body gone,
wishing there were something left to say,
countenance once sparkling, now wan,
as she prepares to make that final trip
to glory, to the everlasting day
when pain no longer whispers from her lips.
Those who stand in grief can only wait
and ponder just what might have been,
but death is drawing nigh, it's much too late,
her appearance now so sallow and so lean.
Thoughts turn to their own brief mortalities,
as they reflect on how they will atone,
and justify their improprieties.
We cannot cheat the Reaper, foil his plan,
and live a life of immortality,
His grip is irresistible, and none
can bypass destiny, its fickle charms,
so may she sleep in peace, in purity,
and rest forever in His loving arms.
Categories:
vigil, death, life,
Form:
Rhyme
(A conjuncture of a
busy mind!)
Oh dear friend if
your health returns
As surely does the
rising sun
May it take this
unyielding waste
From your shallow
face,
Sow the seeds of
vitality
To abide within your
limbs
And behold the
welcome of
Strength regained.
When within a
portrait of
well-being
So vain one scorns
the joys of life
indeed
While destiny left
to the will of God,
Yet I must not
confess this image
reflecting
Only one of care and
encouragement
Till the winter’s
eve of his life
stains death,
No time now I fear
of one’s self
applause
Only the time to
seek out repentance.
Alas tis with a
woeful eye
That makes me seek
my conscience
Which deeply I
search to utter
What I have within
my heart,
To watch him close
to the Reaper
Where attempts to
negotiate
Peals in tenderness
to restore
Life from the icy
clasp of death.
Oh this dwelling of
fear these lips
cannot express
Yet forever dear
friend in my memory
stored!
© Harry J Horsman 2010
Categories:
vigil, friend, life, time,
Form:
Free verse
silence
across the table
sat with him
dressed in black
in the death of night
while his world slept
they waited there
refusing to slip quietly
in the hush of night
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Posted on March 3, 2019
Categories:
vigil, dark, death, night, silence,
Form:
Free verse
We did not notice at first—
the small rebellions of memory:
a forgotten kettle on the stove,
the absurd claim that Tuesday had vanished,
names reshuffled as if in a deck too often played.
The mind does not fall—it recedes,
a shoreline eroded not by storms
but by silent, persistent tides.
Each day an abrasive grain,
each night a hush over once-luminous thought.
She remained seated by the window,
watching nothing
as the garden bloomed out of season,
declaring spring to be a tired lie.
Doctors spoke in dulcet certainties:
"progressive,"
"degenerative,"
"inevitable,"
their syllables clothed in clinical precision.
And so began the vigil—
of sons who now became strangers,
of a husband revisiting courtship rituals
to jog the stubborn past loose,
of caregivers who measured each hour
by the frequency of wandering and repetition.
Her body persisted beyond her
as if mocking the soul’s departure;
and we, too faithful to abandon,
held up dignity like a paper shield
in the long war with forgetting.
The disease was punctual—
as if following an invisible itinerary—
it reached the final station
where even pain seemed exhausted,
and death,
when it arrived,
was not unwelcome—
but late.
Categories:
vigil, caregiving, death, family, grief,
Form:
Free verse
Mother duck gathers
Baby ducks await their fate
Shadows overhead
Categories:
vigil, nature
Form:
Haiku
air reconnaissance
pale assassin in the night
stealthily stalking
Categories:
vigil, animals
Form:
Haiku
At This Wake, None Keep Vigil…*
Time longer than rope, chokes hearts
dangling in the reality of struggle;
refuted victories mimic life
of children without mothers; widows veil
their grief, wailing in excruciating silence.
Fragments of men, void of hope,
count their dead; communal graves
swell with daily souls of the dust.
(Indeed, these are truly the wretched of the earth.)
In the neap tide of sorrows, mourners
wade the blood left by Pilate’s children.
In the stale winds of time,
woe is me, cries the fore shaken
land; lamenting the scriptures, echoing
Freneau: They saw their country’s woe.
Decaying bodies, stacked like sliced, molded bread,
released spores of death to praying mourners, praying:
give us this day, our daily bread…
Like a sobbing bosom void of tears, life sags on;
and the children of Sisyphus continue to struggle:
guided by the warrior ghost of hope.
In the meanwhile, the on looking world veils
Itself with its sacred sealed silence:
At this wake, none keep vigil…
None.
*A line from the poem, “Recession”, by Wole Soyinke
Categories:
vigil, bereavement, children, death, grief,
Form:
Elegy
Patience
by Rabindranath Tagore
loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch
If you refuse to speak, I will fill my heart with your silence and endure it.
I will remain still and wait like the night through its starry vigil
with its head bent low in patience.
The morning will surely come, the darkness will vanish,
and your voice will pour down in golden streams breaking through the heavens.
Then your words will take wing in songs from each of my birds' nests,
and your melodies will break forth in flowers in all my forest groves.
Keywords/Tags: patience, Tagore, translation, Bengali, heart, heartbreak, silence, night, stars, vigil, darkness, voice, streams, heaven, birds, songs, nests, melodies, flowers, groves
Categories:
vigil, heart, heartbreak, hindi, night,
Form:
Verse
The sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust
Their farmland sapping every last ounce of energy
Animals and crops, entrusted and on her own to adjust
With welcome visits of encouragement from the clergy
All the men had enlisted swearing they’d be back
Leaving behind wives who hushed their worst fears
Nights spent dreaming of men riding home on horseback
Godforsaken days turned to months turned to tears
The war years seemed like only yesterday
Like a treacherous nightmare that could be swept aside
With each sunrise, all held their breath for judgment day
Dreams of lighthearted love and happy times gone astride
A woman has premonitions others call foresight
Setting aside the unopened envelope with its postmark
Sat alone with his bloodstained letter well into the night
The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark
AP: 3rd place 2020
Submitted on April 13, 2018 for contest ONE NINE AND SIXTEEN sponsored by VIV WIGLEY - RANKED 4TH
Categories:
vigil, death, farm, hope, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
December 14th a cold evil wind was in Play…
From what had started to be a most beautiful day.
It struck at the heart of Newtown, Connecticut
Twenty children and seven adults were struck.
The families grieve as the horror unfolded.
A nation also grieves and mourns with all those souls.
Candles will be lit, in vigils for all those slain.
No one will forget there were twenty-seven names.
Heroes, first responders, the news of the day…
Can never bring back what has gone away.
Tears and sadness have griped us all in their hands.
We hold our dear loved ones, as together we stand.
Children taken from loved ones… to angels they go.
Sadness and tears, laid many a strong one low.
We pray to God to now protect them in heaven above.
As we sit here weeping, candle in hand, for all those loved.
………….
Echoes of voices on a playground flow
Families now childless with no where to go
Children torn from their families, now angels bestowed
Teachers and Principals followed as heroes, they strode
Oh God, we feel so alone as church bells toll
It could have been ours, which death stole
Lives have been shattered by the mentally ill
Were guns the cause? We’ll debate still
Disbelief turned to grief for those left behind
Tears from a nation as hands intertwined
Vigils with candles, as a nation knows no one can win
Stuffed animals are left as grief settles in,
A biter pill to see the destruction inflicted
It doesn’t come with answers and can’t be predicted
Only tearful cries as the lost are interned
As we await the next event to turn
Categories:
vigil, death, fear, funeral, loss,
Form:
Most mornings
Most perfectly friendly mornings
Serene
Clean as breath of God
In each, I strive to revel
Refreshed
Poised for life's test.
Some mornings
Some perfectly friendly mornings
Phantom of the dark
Steers me down
Tipping my scale of energy
Meddling with my glee
I must greet with joy each morning.
This roller coaster ride
I haven't climb
It touches my spine
I'd shiver, needing warmth and safety
From such creature of the night.
In morning light, no strife
I deserve this gift of new life
My fuel seem dim in the dark
As though the Source is far
Not looking in.
Do I need mantras?
More prayers; a word
Powerful as my Maker
I need my mornings set with glee
Just as when The Savior heard, and saved me.
*
Categories:
vigil, depression, faith, morning,
Form:
Verse
This was a cooking Sunday;
A mushroom tarragon
French cuisine Sunday;
Where the rapture of Julia Child
Days of cooking, cooking, cooking
Rose deep from every pore,
With the bliss of adding
Unmeasured ingredients
And delight in the territory
Of rarely explored spices.
Feeling, sensing the mind
Going into a place of creative joy,
A place of quiet surrender,
With nothing left to do
But leave all behind.
"Bon appetit."
Categories:
vigil, food, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
Sunday
The Lord's day, celebrates the Eucharist
Day of the Resurrection
Christian family
Day of joy
Rest from work
Foundation
Kernel, the whole liturgical year
04052014
Categories:
vigil, christian, devotion, faith, religion,
Form: