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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373806" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Harold Arnett</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=373806" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I leaned against the mantel, sick, sick,<br>Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm,<br>Weak from the noon-day heat.<br>A church bell sounded mournfully far away,<br>I heard the cry of a baby,<br>And the coughing of John Yarnell,<br>Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying,<br>Then the violent voice of my wife:<br>"Watch out, the potatoes are burning!"<br>I smelled them ... then there was irresistible disgust.<br>I pulled the trigger ... blackness ... light ...<br>Unspeakable regret ... fumbling for the world again.<br>Too late! Thus I came here,<br>With lungs for breathing ... one cannot breathe here with lungs,<br>Though one must breathe.... Of what use is it<br>To rid one's self of the world,<br>When no soul may ever escape the eternal destiny of life?</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edgar+Lee+Masters">Edgar Lee Masters</a></strong></div>

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