Soliloquy - A Book of Poetry

By thesad_poet

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π‘‡π‘Ÿπ‘¦π‘–π‘›π‘” π‘‘π‘œ π‘šπ‘Žπ‘˜π‘’ 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 π‘œπ‘“ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘šπ‘’π‘ π‘  π‘œπ‘“ π‘‘β„Žπ‘œπ‘’π‘”β„Žπ‘‘π‘  π‘“π‘™π‘œπ‘Žπ‘‘π‘–π‘›π‘” π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘’π‘›π‘‘ οΏ½... More

π‘Šπ‘’π‘™π‘π‘œπ‘šπ‘’!
50 πš‚πš‘πšŠπšπšŽπšœ 𝚘𝚏 π™±πšŽπšŠπšžπšπš’
π™»πš’πšπšπš•πšŽ, πš†πš‘πš’πšπšŽ π™»πš’πšŽπšœ
π™»πš˜πšŸπšŽ π™»πšŽπšπšπšŽπš›πšœ
π™΅πš›πšŽπšŽ!
πšƒπš πš’πš—πš”πš•πšŽ, πšƒπš πš’πš—πš”πš•πšŽ π™»πš’πšπšπš•πšŽ πš‚πšπšŠπš›
π™΅πšŠπš•πš•πš’πš—πš
π™Όπš’πšœπšžπš—πšπšŽπš›πšœπšπš˜πš˜πš
πš‚πš‘πšŠπš›πšπšœ
𝚁𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 πšŠπš›πšŽ 𝚁𝚎𝚍, πš…πš’πš˜πš•πšŽπšπšœ πšŠπš›πšŽ π™±πš•πšžπšŽ
πšƒπš˜ πš†πš’πšœπš‘ πš„πš™πš˜πš— 𝙰 πš‚πšπšŠπš›
π™»πš’πšπšŽ π™ΌπšŠπšπšπšŽπš›πšœ! π™½πš˜ πš–πšŠπšπšπšŽπš› πšπš‘πšŽ π™²πš˜πš•πš˜πšžπš›!
π™·πš˜πš™πšŽ
πš‚πš‘πšŽ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 π™ΏπšŽπš›πšπšŽπšŒπš, πš‚πš‘πšŽ 𝚠𝚊𝚜 π™Ώπš˜πš’πšœπš˜πš—
πšƒπš‘πšŽ πš†πšŠπš’ πšπš‘πšŽ π™΅πš•πš˜πš πšŽπš› πš‚πš πšŠπš’πšœ
πšƒπš‘πšŽ π™Όπš’πš›πš›πš˜πš› π™³πš’πšœπšŠπšπš›πšŽπšŽπšœ
πš†πš‘πšŠπš π™²πš˜πšžπš•πš π™·πšŠπšŸπšŽ π™±πšŽπšŽπš—, π™±πšžπš πš†πšŠπšœ π™½πš˜πš...
π™Ώπš‘πš˜πšœπš™πš‘πšŽπš—πšŽπšœ
𝙰 πšƒπš‘πš˜πšžπšœπšŠπš—πš π™ΌπšŠπšœπš”πšœ
πšƒπš‘πš›πš˜πšžπšπš‘ πšˆπš˜πšžπš› π™΄πš’πšŽπšœ
π™³πšŠπš’π™³πš›πšŽπšŠπš–
πš†πš‘πšŽπš— π™Ώπšžπšœπš‘ π™²πš˜πš–πšŽπšœ 𝚝𝚘 πš‚πš‘πš˜πšŸπšŽ
π™΄πš’πšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ πš‚πšπš˜πš›πš–
π™»πš˜πšŸπšŽ πš’πšœ π™Άπš˜πš—πšŽ...
πšƒπš‘πš˜πšžπšπš‘πšπšœ
πš‚πšŒπšŠπš›πšœ
π™ΏπšŠπš’πš—
πš†πš’πš—πšπš˜πš  𝚝𝚘 π™΅πš›πšŽπšŽπšπš˜πš–
πš‚πš˜πš—πšπšœ 𝚘𝚏 πšπš‘πšŽ π™΄πšŠπš›πšπš‘
πšƒπš’πš–πšŽ
πš„πš—πš›πšŽπššπšžπš’πšπšŽπš π™»πš˜πšŸπšŽ
πš‚πš˜πšŒπš’πšŽπšπš’
π™·πšžπš–πšŠπš—
π™Όπš˜πš—πšœπšπšŽπš›πšœ
π™Ώπš˜πšŽπšπš›πš’ πšŠπš—πš π™ΌπšŽ
π™»πšžπšŒπš’πš π™³πš›πšŽπšŠπš–πšœ
πšƒπš‘πš’πšœ πš†πšŽπš‹ 𝚘𝚏 π™»πš’πšŽπšœ
πšƒπš˜πš›πš–πšŽπš—πš
π™°πšœπšπš›πš˜πš™πš‘πš’πš•πšŽ
πšƒπš‘πš›πš˜πš  π™±πšŠπšŒπš” 𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ π™³πšŠπš›πš” π™°πšπšŽπšœ
πš‚πš”πš’
πš‚πš•πšžπš–πš‹πšŽπš›
π™·πšŽπš› πš‚πš–πš’πš•πšŽ
π™Άπš‘πš˜πšœπš- 𝙰 π™·πšŠπš•πš•πš˜πš πšŽπšŽπš— πš‚πš™πšŽπšŒπš’πšŠπš• | π™ΏπšŠπš›πš 1
π™Άπš‘πš˜πšœπš - 𝙰 π™·πšŠπš•πš•πš˜πš πšŽπšŽπš— πš‚πš™πšŽπšŒπš’πšŠπš• | π™ΏπšŠπš›πš 2
π™²πš›πšŽπšŽπš™πš’ π™²πš›πšŠπš πš•πšŽπš›πšœ - 𝙰 π™·πšŠπš•πš•πš˜πš πšŽπšŽπš— πš‚πš™πšŽπšŒπš’πšŠπš• | π™ΏπšŠπš›πš 𝟷
π™²πš›πšŽπšŽπš™πš’ π™²πš›πšŠπš πš•πšŽπš›πšœ - 𝙰 π™·πšŠπš•πš•πš˜πš πšŽπšŽπš— πš‚πš™πšŽπšŒπš’πšŠπš• | π™ΏπšŠπš›πš 𝟸
πšƒπš˜πš‘πš’πšŒ - 𝙰 π™·πšŠπš•πš•πš˜πš πšŽπšŽπš— πš‚πš™πšŽπšŒπš’πšŠπš• | π™ΏπšŠπš›πš 𝟷
πšƒπš˜πš‘πš’πšŒ - 𝙰 π™·πšŠπš•πš•πš˜πš πšŽπšŽπš— πš‚πš™πšŽπšŒπš’πšŠπš• | π™ΏπšŠπš›πš 𝟸
πš‚πš–πšžπš•πšπš›πš˜πš—πšœπšΓ€πš•πš•πšŽ
π™»πš˜πšŸπšŽ π™»πš˜πšœπš

π™΅πš•πš˜πš πšŽπš›πšœ πš’πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš‚πš—πš˜πš 

15 6 2
By thesad_poet


I once was a girl of just seven,
Taking a walk in the snow.
Admiring the glistening leaves,
As they lift their faces to meet the sun's warm glow.

I stepped softly in white covered grass,
Listening to the crunch of my boots on the ground below.
The quiet, peaceful woodland,
Surrounding me as I go.

As I entered that winter wonderland,
For once, all on my own.
The peace I felt spoke to me,
And I felt like I was finally home.

I slipped between the Magnolia liliiflora,
Proudly standing on her own,
Proclaiming to all her beauty,
That all year round she has grown.

I stumbled upon a clearing,
And met an interesting sight,
For there stood two lone lilies.
Placed in a position, that looked just right.

And in front of these precious lilies,
Were words engraved in stone,
Telling a sweet little tale,
As they sat upon their snowy throne.

The the story of two lovers,
Whose paths met by chance.
They became friends in an instant,
And finished the day with an evening dance.

They spent their days,
Gazing at sunsets and up into the sky.
And spent their nights gazing at each other,
With love in their eyes.

You see the note that was left,
Was a wish, just eight, shot and simple lines.
Written by that sweet couple,
On what must have been a special day in their lives.

"I hope that the love we have, endures,
To last us the rest of our lives.
Through the storms, twists and turns,
By our love, together, we will survive.
No matter the circumstances,
Let us use every moment that passes by,
And make it into a memory,
That will last us a lifetime."

As I trod back home at evening,
Smiling softly along the path.
I promised to remember the story that those lilies told,
Placed there by my very own parents,
On the night of their wedding bash.

By Shamiah James Blugh
Flowers in the Snow
Created on Friday, 11th of June, 2021
Published on Sunday, June 13th, 2021

Fun Fact
I have never actually been in the snow or seen it in person because I live in a tropical region. But I was still inspired to write this poem!

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