Cleansing

Gray and damp endless expansion. Bare trees and cold air do not speak of the sun that once shined. Only death had a last word.

Slowly earth begins to rumble, entreating creation to look around. There is a compression of the ground. A realization of a thought. 

With a blow it all explodes. The mountains blown into tiny pieces.  The expanse of oceans are singed in the cleansing fire. 

No more are there seasons. Forever the grass is gone. No birds or deer or owls to speak of.  Creation is undone. 

No more will families hurt. There are no more hungry children. Cancer is wiped from this earth.  All tears dried. 

Exploded, vanished, cleansed is this earth from all that was. It will make no more sounds. There is silence forever to be heard. 

But there is a shaking. A tiny little thought. From somewhere, from deep within the prophecy, a little sprout pops forth. 

The cleansing of my earth, the cleansing of my soul. 

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