Rain has always been the fairest fellow I've ever met. From the comfort of his cloud, he watches our every move and blunder. He watched as I helped the little girl get her kitten from under a car in the parking lot; he watched as I threw a wadded up piece of paper at the boy a grade above me who always teases me. The rain has been a silent spectator over the world for some time, as wars were waged in some places and peace was kept in others. And yet, when he comes down to visit this little Earth of ours, he visits all of us. Rain does not fall only on my head; rain does not fall only on the head of the crook or the saint. Rain, although all knowing, does not use that knowledge as a weapon or a reasoning tool. Rain simply falls on us all; visits every head in the shape of gentle drops, every plant in the form of life-giving refreshment. Rain has no judgement of character, and in those respects is quite equal. That is why I love the rain. The whole world could be against me, and hate could be piercing my back from every gaze in close enough vicinity, but rain would always be happy to greet this hated head of mine. Rain is a friend when needed, yet also a reprimanding punishment when necessary. Rain is a constant companion to me, in this world of ever shifting judgement and views.

And though my woe

Is known even more so

And has grown with a frigid vengeance,

My heart still does beat,

Sending blood to my feet,

And forward I move, independent.

Now, that isn't to say

That my vision won't sway,

Or my knees never bend close to breaking,

But my lungs, they do swell

And I know very well

That I live,

And my world will stop shaking.

So if ever someday I cease moving,

Or my heart stutters out to a stop;

If the air all around me won't enter my lungs

I'll be buried, my woes overtop.