Till He Lost His Last Breath Poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan

dedicated to every man who has never found himself until he has lost his all


Circling like squirrel
chasing his own tail
Flapping like goldfish
thrown in the empty bowl

Restless as the wind
no point to call him firm

That figure out the man
with pointless aim
affected by the forces of criticism
slaved by his own imaginary fears
engulf with unnecessary worries
packed by blames and alibis
and ready excuses

his vision lies on the horizon of doubts
on his veins run the blood of timidity
he is riding on the crest of struggling waves
in the ocean of uncertainties

till he lost his last breath.......................

not yet finding himself



@ copyright 2010 manila, phils