We look up at the bright, bright moon
The brave few stars that still shine in the suburbs glower down on us
The world only had room for so many lights
And we drowned the stars in our own mechanical facsimile
We do not see stars often.
We see glimmering corpses
Long-dead bodies of stars, still lingering in the sky
Most have already given up on our rebellious planet
For what have we done this?
Turned off the lights by turning on our own?
Was it worth it? Is expansion worth our last chances to see the stars?
Won't they all be gone someday?
Someday, the universe will be black
Someday, there will be no more light from our home
We will not see the stars, their light will be forever gone
We will not see any light but the light we ourselves have made
And what light is that, the lamps of the street?
Or the glowing of windows, many to each a house?
Does it compare, truly, to the brightness of the sky?
To the stars in the heavens? To the millions of astral lights?
We flew too close to the sun, and in doing so, turned off a thousand others
What have we done?
