Vincent Klapper | Student, College of Medicine
I woke up to study and checked the clock,
the time that men agreed it was,
agreeing too, the time was right
I sat at the table, built by man,
In a chair, built by man,
with my notebooks, built by man,
and I set to work, building words, and sentences, and knowledge.
And then I looked up.
The rain fell in delicate drops, painting the world a dimmer hue.
It stretched along the trees, hugging their bark.
It ran along the ground in excited streams.
It congregated in puddles, their surface perturbed by every little droplet that leapt to join them.
And though I agree I ought to study,
and they agree I ought to study,
I could not help gazing at the rain.
The haphazard raindrops striking the grass,
the violent wind dancing with the leaves,
like actors in a foreign and beautiful play.
I reached for my coffee, harvested by man,
and felt the porcelain, cast by man,
touch my lips, the lips of a man,
but my eyes stayed fixed on the simple marvel created outside.
I could almost feel the cool droplets prick my skin.
I could almost hear the harsh wind tickle my ear.
I could almost smell the moist earth reach for my nose.
And it felt good, in this cold stale room.
The room of a man.
So I got up, turned off the light, and watched the rain.