He Couldn'T Laugh At Himself Poem by Dan Brown

Stony silence replied, as he sat and stared down his reflection.
Wishes, and wishes, with all his heart for a miracle resurrection.
No miracle was to come, though, for this lost soul,
for the heart he hid was black as coal.

There was never any hope, nor any chance.
Of this wooden creature learning to dance.
Of him thawing out, and learning to smile,
For he hasn’t smiled, nor danced, for a while.

His breathing echoes round cold, grey walls,
A tuna sandwich is all he mauls.
He sits in darkness, nose in the air,
but there’s no-one to see, and no-one to care.

He forever took himself so very seriously,
when others would chuckle almost deliriously.
Unfaltering misery brought him ill-health,
The poor old man who couldn’t laugh at himself.