From a reign of suffering comes another age

The flower. The symbol of love, adoration, beauty, friendship. Part of the cycle... death begetting life. The murder of one granular instance of plant life on Earth, the portrayal of one person's feelings for another. It is a simple transaction that may not seem balanced - a number of living cells dying for the sake of another being's simple gesture - but in the grand scheme, life is purely balance.

You talk about the tragedies of man and woman, the travesties he and she commit. Injustice, war, pain, death of the sentient. Atrocities committed between people, and between cultures, and between societies. We wage war on one another while our nations do the same, and the past wages war on us through its lessons of sustainability. We wage war on our Earth, as some say - but, to be sure, it wages war back.

Molecular balance is key. Energetic balance is key. The balance in your mind - the scales that tip between joy, pain, hatred, ecstasy - is not key. It is the imbalance that exists in another dimension, the dimension of human thought. Perhaps our race as a whole, in the end, when pooled and averaged, does balance out... but perhaps not.

The flower becomes love, the love becomes life. The flower itself, while dead, continues to offer its gift from beyond the grave in its physical husk. The chain continues, and human life marches along, blissfully unaware of the monstrous gods that act as puppets in our lives as we do in the flower's. We understand them as well as the flower understands us.