The Strange Guilt of Quinten Blake

Quinten Blake had one pet hate
his feeling guilt when he would wake.
He had no reason that he knew
to feel so guilty or so blue.

He was socially a selfless man
who would offer any help he can.
He’d never once committed crime
or even had a parking fine.

 But his guilt felt real, deep down inside,
a babbling brook that never dried.
A river of self blame runs through
that centre of the inner you.

He blamed himself if disaster struck
for those poor soles down on their luck.
For famine and heinous crimes,
the worst events of recent times.

Deep down inside his inner self  
something wrong sat on a shelf
festering in a lonely place
and just reflected in his face.

This poor man he did not rest
in every thing he tried his best.
But nothing seemed to ease the pain
that extended from his inner blame.

When Quinten turned just eighty five
his dreams and hopes were still alive.
A realisation hit his brain
 the reason for his inner blame.

His guilt extended from way back
when living in an urban flat.
Borrowing a neighbours wrench
to disassemble his old bench.

This tool he never has returned
 the reason that his conscience burned
a realisation soon amassed
to do with leaving on the gas.

Quinten popped his clogs that night
it must have been an awful fright
the post had made him really ill
he’d finally received the bill!!