Waking

A poem.

It couldn't have been the warmth of the bed that woke me. It is still dark in my room, so the light wasn't the cause either. I listen to soundscape outside but that also seems normal and tranquil. I wonder what woke me. I roll onto my side and glance at the clock. It's barely been two hours of sleep. I roll back onto my back and stare into the darkness. Closing my eyes, I listen to the soundscape of the city I live in, not the city of angels. Slowly my thoughts begin their wanderings around my mind. From one point of view to the other, from one argument to the opposite argument. Sometimes in agreement, sometimes lost in the battle for the ultimate truth. They wander from left to right, up and down. The weightless of the mind allowing thoughts to bump off walls and tumble over each other. Eventually they drift into the darkest corners, lost to the minds eye. The mind turns blank and I enter the dream world of the subconscious. It is time for the subconscious to become the storyteller. To tell me just one little story.