A trench awaits for winter
Waiting in the dark for the ghost of christmas past,
dwelling in muddy holes unable to last,
spotting frost that purify's blood stained wire,
thinking of home and this years true desire.
Lost souls that roam the chilling fields,
leaving body and family across the endless sea's,
but for the living they have their daily ration,
writing letters home, that is their passion.
Now the sound of christmas bells ring as they cross the line,
ready to relive life lived and forget their crimes,
across the horizon blooms the disheartened sun,
knowing this is their time as the heat warms the gun.
Now snow starts to fall and I realize their ambition,
was not to wage war, this was not their decision,
throwing weapons aside, they lift their freezing hands,
to bring peace to a place that was declared No Man's Land.