Does the vulture only get its next meal by waiting for something to die?

For something to die, is the opportunity of life itself

And without life itself, death cannot be

Nor death cannot be without life

Without life, is death any different than the fallen tree that no one hears?

Perhaps life was taken for our universe to be born

But we weren’t born on this Earth to answer those questions

So when the Earth is consumed by the black hole,

Would anything be able to hear us?

Each night the flower is left alone

Not of its own choice

But each night the sun must leave

So painfully easily

The flower always forgives the sun

Through every winter

Every night of stagnant darkness

The flower always forgives

Yet the sun still goes

Night and night again

How could the flower hate the sun?

Even when dusk creeps upon its petals

When it’s engulfed by chill

And even when the sunlight dresses itself in clouds

The flower answers its own question

With each kiss of dawn’s light

Does the sun think about the flower?

Does the sun know?