The Great British Rift

There was a time when WE were ONE
Before the Rift had first begun.
There was a time when, looking back
The Rift was barely yet a crack.
A time when we had no idea
That Rifts this size could just…

It started – a line in the sand.
We had to choose which side to stand.
We’d hardly known the line was there
To tell the truth, we did not care
Much about which side we stood;
Either side seemed just as good.

I don’t know why we had to choose.

‘Great men’ expounded on the news.
We tried to understand each ‘fact’
(The science wasn’t quite exact.)
We formed our views in different places;
Our faith was formed in friendly faces.

And then, one day, we made our choice.
They told us that The People’s Voice
Would end the endless long debate.
At last, we’d know which side was great.

They lied.

We looked at one another.
Where were our friends? Lost, our brother.

But that was then.
And this is now.
And none of us could have known how
Fast Rifts could grow. Nor quite how big.
(Unless, perhaps, there’s some that dig?)
The ground shifts underneath our feet;
Rifts feed on anger: non-replete.

And now the Rift has grown so wide
We hardly see the other side.
There’s people there we can’t make out,
We only hear them when they shout.
No chance to talk across the void;
Both sides get more and more annoyed.

I hate the fights.
You hate the fuss.
The Rift exerts a force on us.

There’s always people line the side.
Hate arcs across the great divide.
We just can’t seem to stay away.

The Rift gets wider every day.

To close the Rift – forget the fight.
What matters most then? Being right?
Or healing wounds and moving on?
If most of us want this Rift gone
We’ve got to find the middle ground.

Build a bridge if one’s not found.

We all can change. It’s not too late.
This Rift is not our only fate.

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