United States
42° 9' 35.784" N, 79° 51' 7.4952" W

Forming and evolving on their own,

Thousands of droplets slam against the windowpane.

Their identities are lost at they fall.

The clouds choose to release the drops to the unknown.

The sea may choose to claim them as their own.

The drops are told to fall straight and follow the path.

Wind, people, and buildings may divert their attention

Occasionally disrupting their journey.

Droplets think they know their desired location

Unknown forces sway them to fulfill expectations

Everything each drop touches, it was destined

Questions are left in the sticky air

Where are the drops meant to go?

Who are they meant to be?

The clouds linger as long as they can

Observing, watching, protecting.

Hopefully the droplets achieve their dream.

Maybe nothing stood in their way.

Individuality is rare being one among thousands.

The fall down is brief.

Once the bright light emerges,

Everything dissolves.

Everything is lost.

However the path is worth enduring.

This poem is about: 


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