Floating old airwaves.

On the clouds of time past

footsteps travel the airwaves

down an old wireless now antique,

the broadcast clear,

the enigma code broken,

tin cans sink to the bottom exploding.

Haunted minds camp in ghost tents

reliving the waves of hope

over trenches filled with decay

as tree roots of life

grapple with the truth,

the soil  around eroded ,

lies bare exposing a bomb

and a few empty shells.