Often I find myself wandering 

into the pathway of sweet apple-blossom trees,

watching petals flutter to the ground.

I look at the flowers with 

envy and longing,

wishing to pluck one off

and stick in my hair,

its beauty overcoming my curls

ad shining like a diamond among coal.

But right when my hand reaches for 

a limb of the tree,

a bee buzzes angrily and flies towards me

with jealousy evident in its wings.

I yank my hand back, 

watching as it hums away

and wonder if my wish is worth it.

And as I watch more petals fall onto my clothes, 

I find my feet moving towards the safety of my home,

fear overcoming desire.

Independence is whether we push

the first domino

or not,

and then we watch what happens,

as either choice plays out.

We are given the first decision

in any case,

but as our choices affect us,

we cannot change anything,

for fallen toys cannot immediately be picked up,

and in the end,

it is our fault for choosing to push

or not choosing to.

Independence is responsibility

with either an amazing award,

or a harsh punishment.

So aliens,

choose wisely.

It is said that endings are

beginnings, but simply a second to

early.

They see the heartbreak and the 

tears,

always picking the short end of the

stick.

Yet, endings will always keep their

promises,

and come when beginnings can not.

Tis a frequent complaint of my fellow scholars,

That the essence of poetry

Lies within its alliteration and analysis,

Yet I disagree.

For poetry is not always comprised of puzzling language

and symbolic literary devices,

It can also be based off of

The pure feelings of the poet.

Often a poem is a story

Of those feelings being said,

And perhaps alliteration is not always quite necessary,

But it does add a rather beautiful touch.