It seems the most silly thing,
A small bit of water that falls from the sky,
and falls to the ground before breaking,
But what is it truly?
What if we could slow its descent, watch each moment,
Let this droplet speak for itself,
In its unique eddies and patterns,
In its unique way to scatter the light,
Its own myriad of color and love.
Would it still be only a drop of water?
What could it feel as it tumble into the sea of nothingness,
what could it think as it slowly fell to its own demise?
Could it think of Its life before?
Would it miss the river, or the cloud,
Miss the other raindrops that were together at last before falling,
plucked from heaven by chance and anarchy,
Taken from the sea of raindrops who once flowed around,
and supported it in the wide ocean.
Now only for it to fall ,alone in its grim fate,
where tears and sorrow had forced it,
where happiness was gone,
and only the cold truths of grief made themselves heard,
a small, insignificant raindrop,
cared for by no one, loved by no one,
missed by no one, falling to the ground.
Could anyone know its pain?
So we watch it without comment,
watch every moment of it,
the life of a raindrop,
from higher to low, doing nothing,
not reaching out our hands to catch it,
but rather with passionate indifference letting it fall,
caring rather for the end then its journey,
another story we could tell,
but one we were too afraid to help.
In excruciating slowness, a lifetime of opportunity,
it falls, unable to catch itself,
needing a hero in a world lacking,
As all eyes turn upwards, watching,
as the little drop falls faster, and faster,
forgetting all inhibitions,
forgetting its friends,
the ones who loved it,
the ones that cared for it,
the ones that supported it,
it Falls without restraint, lost and alone,
As everyone watches from a distance,
trusting it to reach its natural end.
Trusting it to stop falling or die trying.
Trusting it to all work itself out.
But aren't they speechless when,
unable to go no lower,
lost, alone, afraid, and abandoned the world,
the raindrops give up hope in being saved,
gives up whatever hope was in its twisted and mangled heart,
and can do nothing but splatter into the ground.
Aren't the others surprised when,
with no negligience of their own,
what could have been a rainbow,
or a lake, or sea,
suddenly becomes nothing.
What fairness is there in it's fate?
What justice has been done upon it,
but by chance and the meddlings of fate?
Entropy decided to take it up,
away from its fellows in the great waters,
to place it above them, from whence they could only watch,
from where they forgot about the little raindrop they had once supported,
but instead flow onwards in their never-ending revolutions.
And separated from all others,
Chance dropped it. Away from the cloud,
filled with fellow raindrops, lost and alone and scared,
They clustered together, hoping to find solace in each others embrace,
but one by one, they fell.
Each taking one another with them to comfort in the final fall,
before losing sight of them as the descent began,
through wind, or some obstacle in its path,
until they are all alone. Falling from the heavens.
What can we few do?
We open our umbrellas and put on our raincoats,
the rain is a nuisance, and is doing us all a favor in exhausting itself,
as every raindrop falls, we ignore it,
another "plunk" on our windshields and visors,
to be wiped away without a second thought.
What is the value of a raindrop,
Compared with our own "happiness"?
What is the measure of it's life,
Compared with our convenience?
What is its emotion,
when it is only another meaningless bit of water falling down,
as all water will eventually?
What is its fear,
when it is too scared to help itself?
Why should we help it,
when it is beyond our comfort to reach?
So we watch the little raindrops,
It seems the most silly thing,