-
your loss of love our personal gain,
you sang-screamed our private pain:
emotional, runaway express train.Big Brother hung on crazy coat tails,
you rocked hard, almost left the rails,
no warning whistle, just hurt heart wail.stylishly touselled, messed long hair,
defied convention, you didn’t care:
blatantly refused modesty, no brasierre.pioneer, prodigy, first female rocker
stuck between Jagger and Joe Cocker;
drink and drugs: dark death croppers.wilful and defiant to the very last,
promiscuous promises failed fast
– grim reaper’s shadow eerily cast.unnoticed lover’s letter, lay unopened,
your battered heart weary, so broken
– heaven too far away for your hoping.what a tale of tragedy, disarray:
validation, debts none can pay;
the party left early, you didn’t stay.accidental overdose finally robbed,
sad signature songs, shouted, sobbed:
if still alive you could’ve blogged…
the party left early
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Fine poem. Learn to spell brassiere – have you no respect, at all?
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my spelling _is_ bad but not as bad as Ireland’s one-time poet laureate W B Yeats:)
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