Hearing through the walls.

Through these paper thin walls,
I can hear anything you contemplate,
Anything you debate or desecrate,
Anything you conceal
that could be ideal or surreal
And all these things I hear... I reflect upon.
I can now write stories and fables,
Extraordinary tales,
Never neglecting the vivid details.
They fuel my thoughts or feelings,
what ever my pen will feed on.
I listen closely,
most intensely,
intently,
waiting for just a whisper.
Coincidentally the chatter has begun,
Regale me with a tale
or even just a pun,
Furnish me with words
I can use to form a rhyme,
An anecdote ,
a phrase,
Or anything I can combine.
See, I have an expectation,
to reach a destination,
Far from deprivation,
desperation and decline,
Where I can prosper with my creations,
Fascinations,
inspirations and refine,
And so with concentration,
I press my ear harder
Against the walls of my imagination... and say:
"Make me divine, if you should find the time."
And one day it'll help me find a way.