My One-Sided Conversation

Follow up to the Swamplands... with different eyes.

Drip drop.  Drip, drip drop.
Dropping, dropping, drip, drip drop.
Mist cascades gently
Across verdant fields and forests
In which I hide,
Stamping and trampling gravel, grass, and leaf underfoot.

Feet pit pat pattering
With glistening, gleaming
Incandescence spit spat splattering
Upon my sun-tanned skin.

A little harder now
As dull and drear closes in
Spawn of summer and salted sweat
Mix with greatest indifference.
A solution of heaven and earth sufficiently drench,
Each entity difficult to distinguish.

The pounding of my feet resounds
Throughout the hidden wood
In time with the constant
Drip drap splattering
Like an incessant drum beating.

Baptismal waters tainted with stinking human brine
Still manage to cleanse
Inner and outer soles
As through shrouded dell I stole
From angels my renewal.

Drip drap drapping
And split splat splattering
As that drizzle goes on blathering
In my ear,
Imparting esoteric morsels of truth
I can never hope to reveal,
For shaking, shivering, and soaking,
I end my journey here.