They are all scattered on the blue carpet.
Pick up a piece and wet your palm
The color of blue digs deep roots within.
A Sunday is emptied out of an old box
A treasure and a ghost roam and their sighs
You can't wipe, can't wipe, from your fogging eyes.
Time lays loose and you shut in the old box.
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Comments: 11
"They are all scattered on the blue carpet."
To me, the all throws the beat off. Maybe They're instead of they are
(Can you tell I've been proofreading and copy-editing for the past ten hours?)
Love this: treasure and a ghost
Nicely done.
and I want to know more