Imagine you had the power to create worlds. You could design planets that were gardens, frozen spheres, furnaces, or even desolate rocks. The gardens would need tending, so you could hire or even create caretakers for your garden world. But should they fail to care for it, or worse exploit and poison the garden, would you not build in some sort of self-cleaning mechanism, a sort of re-start button?
I wondered, what if the self-cleaning mechanism for our world has been activated? Could all the storms and climate changes be our own world attempting to "reset" or "reboot?" Not being the Creator of our world, I could not comprehend His mind, but in my own limited fashion I present one possibility...
I stood upon a bridge that spanned the sky,
And surveyed all the world that turned below.
I cast my gaze from pole to pole, and I
Despaired that what I'd planted did not grow.
My garden wasn't simply choked with weeds,
Weeds had joined the trees and seas in dying.
My caretakers had filled only their needs,
The toxic mess they left had me crying.
The gift I gave them, a priceless treasure,
Needed only careful, loving tending.
Greedily they'd wasted the full measure,
Of resources now reaching their ending.
Reluctantly, I flipped a switch, meaning
I'd started the cycle of self-cleaning...