Hi! I wrote this about the Christmas Truce of 1914 (duh!) when soldiers on both sides of the lines laid down their weapons and spent a calm night without war. Anyway, it's long...grr...but please enjoy and review!

CHRISTMAS TRUCE, 1914

I. Men, they start and it revolves, men,
Gloved leather grip, shaky eyes,
Snow-fluffed and caught delicately
Under half-second tenderness, in mud-soaked
Hair, shaky eyes
And cold
But the searchlights, palehollow moons
To discourage these new Shadows...
All-clear sounded,
And a diamond-precise coldness-
Snow-allowed to fall,
Rivulets of sodden-broken Earth-
Given a holy Midnight to finally Freeze.
Back to men-
Sudden men-
Hours before, nothing but of machinery and
Fodder,
Now rising slowly, the air absent
Of dark-gray spurious-yellow
Mass,
Settling-
Then returning back to air
In the softnesshard of winter.
All is silence-
And they Rise, one-by-one, timid school-lads
Lighting cigarettes
And frowning, suddenly
Something-
Not glinting, not metallic, something
Delicate, angel-cloth and one-by-one...
One-by-one
And slowly,
They come forward, the
Snow puffing boot-marks, rifle-
Marks, as they lie down
And pick among barbed wire,
Unfinished burials in a no-man's-land Sea, treading
Darkly-obstructed waters
And meeting.

II. They have blue eyes
They have reddened young man faces
Shaking hands
Boot-prints, all the same in
Cleaning snow, and suddenly,
Suddenly-
Everyone is Blind,
Tho' not of the seed-yellow gas, but of snow,
And absence of firebomb cannon-lights
Running brandy and lit flares all slowly,
All slowly but not with Doubt, suddenly
Trench-mud melts in freezing ice,
Reach out and it is but a mirror,
Raise arms, and they raise theirs,
"Hello"
"Gutten nacht"
Unhardened--light blue eyes unsmoked--
Not metal anymore
But the alien grasping of another shaking
Hand.
Human skin under weatherworn leather gloves,
Warmth of human skin
And...no, not bullets,
No left-over artillery
Echoes, but
Laughter...forgotten word, cold and night-
Suddenly more Human than any too-exposed
Day-dawn, holding hands, kisses of brotherhood,
And flowing--
Sobs.

III. Young blue eyes on each side
Flipbooks of photos and music,
Forget for a time, lay down snow-dusted
Gunmetal and forget.
Maybe--
Maybe this is what He meant
This came dripping from His Blood and hope
For a star-wish, all those Time-moments ago.
Years.
And War-
That greedy Thing
Void of all until it is filled with fire and
Blue-eyed men somehow
Touches something deep
Remembering instinct
All in War,
Playing football
Sharing cool-snow night brandy
Language walls, papery down-waft as snow-
Marked boot prints smiling into
Same Blue Eyes
For simply
One Night.