Not Wanted Anymore

For Stars, where comes the light of day?
Or raindrops sweet,
Nor flowers May?
When constellations form and shape
To see the height
And from night rape
Passing debris without second thought
O'er-lording all
Self-righteous brought
Cleansing from all space the "trash"
Of horror wrought
The sinful rash
Of evil, hateful, rancid rust
To "save" the world...

...Yet even stars soon turn to dust.