u/Weird_Yesterday_1928

Carry On Reform

The bunting is up on a retail park plot

Where the tarmac is melting and the coffee is hot.

There’s a man in a covert coat, holding a pint

With a wink for the cameras that’s slightly disjoint.

He’s selling a "Reset" in glossy brochures,

Promising cures for your grumbles and sores,

But read the small print and you’ll see with a sigh,

It’s just reheated slogans and a cold Greggs pie!

Oh, it’s Carry On Reform!

A teacup-sized tempest, a polyester storm.

It’s a low-rent panto where the script’s gone missing,

Half the front bench is already dismissing!

A grin stretched thin and a blazer of blue,

Selling "common sense" that’s been stepped in by a shoe.

(Carry On Reform!)

The joke’s on the house, but the audience is you!

The candidates arrive like a strange fever dream,

Curated from Twitter and the "Extremist" stream.

They win a small seat and they shout "We’re the kings!"

Then implode by the evening over "historical things."

"I never said that!" is the party-line cry,

While the screenshot is shared by a tech-savvy guy.

They’re fighting the system from a VIP box,

A pride of old lions led by one clever fox!

Now, fetch us a calculator—don't be a fool,

We’re doing the maths they don't teach you in school!

Take zero, add "Vibes," subtract any sense,

And build a gold statue at the public’s expense.

It’s chaos with spreadsheets! It’s policy by mood!

It’s "Up the Establishment!"—(sent from a yacht, typed while nude).

He’s back in the jungle, he’s back in the bay,

He’s back on the telly every hour of the day.

An "Outsider" hero with a Westminster pass,

Raising a toast to the working-class glass.

But Clacton is shrugging, "You went for a stroll,

Now you’re back for the limelight and a bump in the poll!"

He’s striking the match just to bask in the spark,

Then leaving us all to find our way in the dark.

A recycled disaster, so loudly performed.

Selling disruption from a cracked plastic box,

All bark like a lion, all bite like a fox!

Supporters shout "Freedom!", the critics say "Noise,"

It’s politics played like exhausted schoolboys.

(Carry On Reform!)

The circus is leaving... but he’s keeping the toys!

Still chasing the airtime!

Still missing the cue!

The truth’s at the exit...

But Nigel’s still queueing for an interview!

We stand in the shadow of our own making,

where the question rises—

not whispered, not trembling—

but roaring louder than gunfire,

louder than flags snapping in divided winds:

How long will we destroy

what we do not know how to heal?

We have carved the earth with borders,

named the sky with gods,

and called it reason to break one another.

Centuries of fire dressed as glory,

of pride sharpened into blades,

of faith twisted into something unrecognizable—

something that forgets mercy.

And still we call it victory.

But look closer—

at the soil that once fed us

now heavy with the names of the fallen.

At cities that used to sing

now holding their breath in ruin.

At children—

always the children—

learning fear before language,

loss before love.

This must end.

Not in some distant, convenient tomorrow.

Not after one last war to settle them all.

Now.

Because hatred is not born—

it is handed down,

stitched into stories,

taught like tradition.

And if it can be taught,

it can be untaught.

We can show them something stronger:

that difference does not divide—it deepens us.

That culture is not a wall—it is a crossing.

That faith, if it is truly faith,

must open hands, not close them into fists.

What kind of god asks for ashes?

What kind of truth demands a child’s suffering?

What belief survives only by the breaking of bodies?

If it divides us, we have mistaken it.

If it costs our humanity, we have lost it.

We were never enemies.

Not really.

We were always reflections—

parents and strangers,

laughter and longing,

breathing the same fragile air

on a planet that does not belong to any side.

And yet we let war take it—

take everything.

War does not shield our children.

It devours them.

War does not defend what we value.

It hollows it out.

War does not prove strength.

It exposes our refusal to imagine better.

So imagine.

Be the ones who break the pattern.

The ones who refuse inherited hatred

like a chain finally dropped.

Be the generation that chooses courage

not in battle—

but in mercy.

The generation that says:

no more.

No more killing for difference.

No more graves for pride.

Because they are watching—

the children.

Watching what we build

with trembling hands.

Watching what we destroy

without thinking.

And one day,

they will ask us who we were

when it mattered most.

Let us answer without shame:

We chose peace

when it was hardest.

We chose understanding

when anger was easier.

We chose each other—

not as enemies,

but as human beings

worthy of breath,

of dignity,

of tomorrow.

And in that choice,

we gave them more than survival.

We gave them the one thing

war never could—

a future.