toweringtony Posted December 15, 2015 Share Posted December 15, 2015 THE CHRISTMAS TRUCE A dirty trench filled with despair, a squalid mess, with souls laid bare. How could a man, from either side, endure this hell, no place to hide. Tommy or Hun, it mattered not, these souls were offered up to rot. Men sent mad, through fear and pain, while the top brass ordered, more land they gain.A few yards here, a few yards there, each inch of mud, gained through despair.While enlisted men, ate diets of rat, their Generals, in HQ got fat. No rations here, for the chosen few, who quaffed their fayre, with a port or two.As Christmas came, so cold and sad, there was at least a pact, to make men glad. The Christmas Truce, 100 years ago, where soldiers met, in mud and snow.Handshakes, gifts and football too, just the day before, the bullets flew.These were men, so much the same, with children, wives, caught in a game.A game of war, that had no winners, except of course, for political sinners.Simply pawns, used in their name, a game of power, money, gain.But when you look a man in the eye, you see his soul, it does not lie.That's what these soldiers could not have neglected, no enemy, just themselves reflected.The enemy was nowhere around, they lived in mansions, castles, safe and sound.The Christmas Truce, broke through illusion, but return to trenches, brought much confusion.We kill each other, men just the same, all to quench our masters gain. 'THE PUGILIST POET' Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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