The Song Remains the Same

We were cigar-smoking sylphs,
we were angst-ridden waifs,
not quite role-model material
We were The Clash and The Cure,
Lena-Lovich demure,
but never Nirvana funereal

We were Flashdance and Fame,
we were Grease, Purple Rain,
not Dolly-sweet 9 to 5vers
We were Wham, All That Jazz,
Chorus Line razzmatazz,
Saturday Night Fever survivors

We were pathological humour,
the kohl-girls of rumour,
but never drug-addled chic
We were Dark Side of the Moon
and Kate Bush la lune,
living The Dreaming mystique

We were polka-dot punkers,
Spandau Ballerinas,
not tattooed suicide-grunge,
Twisted Sister crazies,
You were Thelma, I, Louise

But,
in the end,
only you
took that plunge

What if?

What if
you were gifted
a second life?

Would you,

having sifted
time’s hindsight,

re-map the course
thus far taken,
and without remorse
sail dreams forsaken,

hoist new masts
on life’s oceans blue,
endeavouring to chart
a different you,

to brave life’s wild
and raging seas,
or float with mild
and soothing breeze?

What if
you were given
a second
life?

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