"There's a time and a place" the gravedigger said,
"For humour, and this isn't it."
But the thought process currently stuck in my head
Is: "Maybe it is. Just a bit."
The businessmen said, in no uncertain tones,
That my silliness simply won't do,
And quickly went back to their laptops and phones,
But I still think the opposite's true.
There's no harm at all in increasing the stock
Of the cheerfulness in this cruel world,
And, often, my humour has been like a rock
While the pain inside me has unfurled.
I cannot explain why, when I start to cry,
That, sometimes, I laugh while I do.
In the depths of despair, where men want to die:
I can see the ridiculousness too.
So if I should be sad, and you see me laugh,
Just know I'm still dying inside,
And that I simply have to follow this path,
Or tears will flow out in a tide.
"I feel an earnest and humble desire, and shall do till I die, to increase the stock of harmless cheerfulness." – Charles Dickens
