Bookish Angels

I am in the library and the pouring that I've been anticipating has finally come.
My dear Nora and I went and rested our foreheads against the frame of an open window, kneeling on a bench. I stretched my arms out into the rain. The breeze alternated between warm air flowing out from behind us and cool air blowing in from outside. The rain came in waves of monsoon through spring shower. Sometimes the water drops were huge, plodding down from the sky to pebble my arms. Water dripped on the inside of my elbow from the window. When the wind blew droplets into my eyes i put on my sunglasses so I wouldn't have to close them. We watched girls with and without umbrellas running and tripping through the wet. The lightning and thunder was exhilarating. I felt so refreshed, washed clean of my stress over finals. Gorgeous.
I've been in and out of the library since one today. I am getting jack done. I have come to the conclusion that I don't know what makes a good essay, let alone how to write one.

These bookish angels peering down from the rafters
seem stern and malicious some days
watching over generations of students
trying to mend lazy ways
they hold books and scrolls looming over us
like prison guards waiting to strike
I can't get work done in their unblinking gaze
but they keep me as long as they like
releasing me into the grim light of dawn
to drag myself back to my room
I feel their disapproving glares on my back
as I plod ever on towards my doom