Everyone blind
has a sun each.
In loving sun,
eyes have limits.
Sun is merciless,
blinds any one
who  tries to overreach,
that's not a lot of fun!
After a day's
relentless march,
a spectacular dusk,
announces the finis.
Night comes on tip toes
a disguised thief,
to rob everything left
none would resist.
The world is in masquerades,
if you are lucky enough
get the beams,
of moon's cool grace-
on your searing wounds,
and sleep without dreams.
And then again
breaks the dawn,
with an innocent smile,
as if it is the first time ever;
the game continues.

Golden flash on wing in flight
Fleeting vision, yet so bright
Soaring high, called from above
Beauty is your gift of love
Liquid calling, tumbling down
Bobbing heads, with red on crown
Guileless Charm of birds, behold!
Caps of red and wings of gold.

the darkness enclosing me,
as the light switch flipped.
walking blindly across the room,
feeling my way to the bed where,
you take my hand and finish guiding me,
next to your side.

the darkness still wraps about me,
as the switch flips,
and the path to the bedside hasn't changed;
but there's no outstretched fingers to grab onto,
to kidnap me from reality,
and guide me to my dreams.

A letter from unknown.
British Expeditionary Force, Friday December 25th 1914.      

   
"My Dear Mater, This will be the most memorable Christmas I've ever spent or likely to spend: since about tea time yesterday I don't think theres been a shot fired on either side up to now."

"Last night turned a very clear frost moonlight night, so soon after dusk we had some decent fires going and had a few carols and songs. The Germans commenced by placing lights all along the edge of their trenches and coming over to us - wishing us a Happy Christmas.
Some of our chaps went over to their lines."

"There must be something in the spirit of Christmas as to day we are all on top of our trenches running about ..."

"After breakfast we had a game of football at the back of our trenches! We've had a few Germans over to see us this morning. They also sent a party over to bury a ****** we shot in the week ... About 10.30 we had a short church parade the morning service etc. held in the trench ..." 

"Just before dinner I had the pleasure of shaking hands with several Germans ... I exchanged one of my balaclavas for a hat. I've also got a button off one of their tunics. We also exchanged smokes etc. and had a decent chat."
"They say they won't fire tomorrow if we don't so I suppose we shall get a bit of a holiday - perhaps ... We can hardly believe that we've been firing at them ... it all seems so strange.
With much love from Boy."

The song
'Little Bag of Hair'
By the Mystery Jets
It's the only song,
On a playlist
That reads,
Forbidden.