Through the Walls (Poetry)

I hear them sometimes -
unmistakeable - the click and clack
of others out there weaving worlds
in parallel universes.

A host of secret artists - lesser gods
who carve and sculpt and dream,
colouring in their own creations,
their diverse ways of seeing.

Stray thoughts echo, bounce
and I catch them, fleeting
in odd moments inbetween ideas
germinating, pushing through,

smell their stranger genesis,
their ragged strands gathering,
rolling mental tumbleweed,
unrooted, thin and whispering

things I didn't know I knew
but recognise the voice inside,
the spirit answers on the wire -
hums a message back.