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Inkblot - Collection of Poems

By my writings, I hope to inspire you and make a difference in your life.


Weapon ---
Builds, Destroys
Empowering, Liberating, Threatening
It may sound ordinaire,


Sweet summer sun dazzles in blue over green fields, hills and meadows. Like a skylark in flight, I find paradise delight. Fruit trees are blossoming, Lilies, roses shining bright and red. Bees hum in harebell best, I'm filled quiet, tranquil in a deep still. Wind moaned, gave a shout... Birds are kites from far skies back and forth I list, to thy lovely swelling music. In my window is eloquence of beauty as such hath no bitterness. Garden promise, I'll rejoice 'til the last steps of day.


Seldom I speak off my mind
afraid to stand corrected.
Seldom I raise hands,
afraid I won't be recognized.
Seldom I make companions,
afraid to be rejected.
Seldom I am real,
in masks I show off myself.
This inferior heart of mine,
coated with insecurities oftentimes.
Seldom I enjoy life
for I desired to be best,
making them proud of my quest!
Seldom I laugh
for life's been so unfair,
living in this world of despair.
Seldom to Him I put the blame,
Why let a pleading child suffer worst
over and over again?
Seldom, I get curious
Why do am I perfectly imperfect?
Seldom I paused, never play again
this series of seldom's in me.
Yet, I fear to fail.

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Root of Words, words nourishing the soul. Lumber of Love, love building relations. Foliage of Sacrifice, buds heroism. Husk in modest - dark spots? Oh! not a burden. Fruit of Chastity, reaps divinity. In battle called "Spirituality" an Aegis to humanity. In famishment or in sere, Thy's our food and water. to the ill - a cure. What shall I to keep? nothing more but FAITH! Thou's no equal, no one dares to be. Open your eyes, there's ubiquitous Coco...- the Life, the Tree.



They've known you a little, I've known you better.
You are to me the best,
even if they call you the "beast".
For I is to you
as Rancho is to Virus.

You are the philosopher; I am a believer.
They say you're a perfectionist,
I say there's nothing wrong with it.
For I is to you,
as Plato is to Socrates.

You are the author; I am a reader.
You are to me an inspiration,
while to some you're just but a mere writer.
For I is to you,
as Shakespeare is to Marlowe.

You are the architect; I am the carpenter.
You are to plan; I am to construct.
A piece of me I owe to you,
for you were once the reason
why I trudge this road I'm on.

Never had a beat of the clock
nor even a slip of the tongue,
to say how great you are.
For I is to you always...
As man is to Him.

© 2022 Sangie Ceneta

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