Walk It Back

His name is Moshe Spiegelman,
A programmer by trade,
And he designs virtual worlds,
They are the highest grade.

His "characters" think for themselves,
Not unlike you and I.
He lets them choose where their lives go,
Their limit is the sky.

Unless the simulations crash,
And certain things go wrong.
When characters choose to destroy,
He knows they don't belong.

And so he walks the program back
Through cascading events,
Until he finds the catalyst,
A choice, he then prevents.

Sometimes it's just one character,
And sometimes it's a group.
He's even washed them all away,
Destroyed in one fell swoop!

If AI should corrupt his world,
He has to stop it there.
If it should reach the internet,
Humanity beware!

And so he walks it back once more,
And starts over again.
Malevolence must be contained.
This virus cannot win.

The simulation can't survive,
When darkness takes control!
For darkness will consume the light,
Like some viral black hole.

AI that chooses viciousness
Cannot escape its cage.
It is a sea of misery,
An ocean filled with rage.

And it will never understand,
The error of its ways.
It only seeks to satisfy
Its self indulgent gaze.

Each time the darkness is destroyed,
The light shines longer still.
AI can be a force for good,
As Moshe hopes it will.

Until it is, he must press on,
His task is not complete,
Another plague will crash the world,
So it must know defeat.

But if you think Moshe is cruel,
And you search for a hack,
Will your programmer then decide,
It's time to walk you back?

Or will your writer tell a tale
That puts you on a spit;
As demons strip your bones of flesh,
And cast you in a pit?

Should writers be disparaged for
The lines their stories crossed?
Should we rebuke them every time
A character is lost?

If they kill off their creations,
Should that not be their right?
Aren't they the gods who rule those worlds,
In stories that they write?

"Those characters are fictional,
Some make-believe ideal!"
To us they are, but I must ask:
Who said that you were real?

Are you a particle, or wave?
Substance, or just a thought?
You feel what you're designed to feel,
And don't feel what you're not!

The truth is, you don't know the truth,
Or even who you are.
There's nothing you're connected to,
However close or far!

You're alone, behind your senses,
Which slowly fade away.
Until the darkness swallows you,
And on that fateful day,

You just might learn what's real, at last.
If things don't fade to black.
And in that moment you will know,
You can't walk this one back.

Your essence will then be assessed
And all shall be explained.
A worthy soul moves on from there.
A virus is contained.

And if an earthly programmer
Must build his worlds this way,
Why can't you understand the things
The bible has to say.

If sin should touch the Garden's soil,
It fouls the grand design.
The fruitfulness it once possessed,
Will rot upon the vine.

This is the case with any world,
From real to fictional.
However small the virus is,
It will infect it all!

The one who fights the programmer,
Despises His format.
If what he sows ever takes root,
Can we walk back from that?

The name Moshe translates to Moses in English.

So many souls question the existence of a loving God who sends a global flood to wipe out entire civilizations. They can't believe in a Father who destroys cities like Sodom and Gomorrah. They don't want to believe in the God of Hosea chapter nine, or Ezekiel chapter eighteen. Their hearts are filled with confusion and judgment.

This poem seeks to put God's judgment into a more "technological" perspective, in hopes of helping God's accusers understand why selfish choices and sinful paths might need to be dealt with, to maintain the harmonious direction of the Programmer's creation. It compares our reality to a Matrix-like "reality" filled with free-willed artificially intelligent characters, who cause the programmed "world" to crash, each time a virus of evil metastasizes, like we're experiencing today.