Dill

[Zovistograt]

The chrome-painted metal sphere
Contrasting with the dark, damp wood
Of the labyrinth
On the table
Smoothly glides between pitfalls
Of certain doom
Toward that mystical space
Where no holes remain
And the sphere could be safe
If only for a moment
Before it is in peril
Yet again

The god of this merciless world stops suddenly
And his attention is diverted
To an object of less trivial fancy
A book
A simple book
Distracts him from his world
His merciless world
The book
The simple book
Calls him to its thin, worn pages
Held together loosely
By a decrepid spine.

The attic is cold and musty
A combination unsuitable for most
But a being born from vinegar
Will trade luxury for the vine
Or in his case
The Nyquil
As he shifts into his intellectual pose of superiority.

He relaxes
And lets his mind go astray
Astray in another plane
Of not existence
But ideal
As he flirts with experimentation and prose.

He is not asleep
He will never sleep
For his mind will never sleep
As his body rests
His mind will never rest
It dreams up merciless worlds
And brings them to life.

[Sgt.Chilly]

Nicely done.

Except the 3rd Section threw me off.