Daydreams at Night

I have a secret I'm going to tell you
And I would whisper it to you
In the dark
If you would only ask.

This secret is that I daydream, at night.

Sometimes, I'm a man not made of plush flesh and soft tissue
Stretched over these alabaster, ivory bones

I'm a man made of steel and wire
My muscles are whirring motors
My tendons are rubber-encased copper strips running
Down down down and
Up up up.

Sometimes, when I daydream at night,
It's a dream that I sleep into

A dream that pulls me
Down down down then
Up up up.

It's a dream where
The brass bolts of my feet do not
Stand on worm and weevil-infested
Crumbling, wet and clammy earth
No

My bed and blankets are a steel casket
The partition between pillow and sheet my viewport
To the stars
The white spackle-painted ceiling the eddies and arms
Of galaxies and nebulae

And I float
Hurtling
Faster
Through the white-hot stars
Through the blackness that holds them
Cradles them
Loves them

And I pierce through
Like a blinding
Sheet of light
I float, dreaming
Waiting, waking
Alone.
Quiet.
Peace.
Rest.

I wait as miles and light-years hurtle by
Planets and stars hurtle by
Particle tendrils of purple-blue plasma
Hurtle by
Distant memories of the life I once knew
Hurtle by
And I wait, and I sleep until I am found again.
And I awaken.
No more dreaming.

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A while ago someone I know was super excited about this poem someone else we both knew wrote.  When this third party read his poem outloud, I had only one thought:  Really?

When I say that I mean that the poem in question was bad, just bad.  So I got inspired to write a bit of poetry, just to show-off, but mainly because I hate it when people aren't aware of their incredibly bad taste.  Granted, I'm not the best poet ever, and this poem isn't the best ever, but trust me, it was head and shoulders above what was written.

I hope you like it.