A Poem In Progress

just sitting here in the quiet of the night, Looking back on my life to see what I did right. Hard to define how some things happen, As a kid I was hassled, for what, I don't know, The why's and the wherefores of so long ago. I'm writing my poems, my words are all true, About some of the times that I have lived through. Could things have been different, if I had tried, Harder to please those who offended and lied? Helping folk with problems they brought to me, Then they try to shame me for the world to see. I am no hero, never sort out the praise, But sick of being hated and left in a daze. If God keeps a record of what I have done for so long, I'd sure like a copy, to see where I went wrong. My life's been a mess for as long as I know, Highlights like lightning come fast and then go. Rare things happen when someone comes to stay, My Frances came so many years ago, she brought love To my life, please God, let her stay and never go away. Over the years folk have hurt us so much, but for why We don't know, we have struggled so hard to to get by. They come and they hurt, we cannot see what they gain, They leave never knowing or caring they leave behind pain. Not sure why I started to write down this poem, the words Seem to flow from the past to the present this night. I'm actually in good humour , so I'll end it. Goodnight. Still not sure what made me pen this, probably worried about my wife. © Dave Timperley February 2016