The Man Who Sold The Sun

Personal Project
Special thanks goes to Ash Thorp who designed the main title
Role - Full production

One quiet day in some quiet town,
Sat a man, in his house, on his own.
There was no day that passed by in this man’s solemn life,
When he did not consider his torture and strife.
This pain was caused by not many, but one,
A giant that stood tall in the sky.
It was the sun that he hated, despised and abhorred,
And cursed it whenever he could.
‘A vile, monstrous thing, far from a king,
That devours the life that it brings.’
He vowed to himself on a life he once loved,
That he would take it right out of the sky.
He never saw the joy that it brought,
The life built from naught and its power to transform from the dark. He saw pain and saw burning,
Anguish and churning of life through the grind-mill of time.

So he studied and noted,
Each second devoted to the means that would grant him his end. Through books and through papers,
Up high and down low,
He searched for the strings to garnish his bow,
And fire an arrow as straight and as true,
To the heart of his foe, right through and through.
Then one day he found his way to achieve,
A way to deceive and a way to thieve,
From the sun, what it gave, that he saw as contrived,
It was that same power, for that control that he strived.

So he created something that would take this control, Away from the sun and set it up for a fall,
It was so clear now, so clear and so bright
To bring the darkness of night, he must replace all the light. He took the sun’s power and shrunk it right down,
And then split it all up, and went to the crowd. People were gasping and oohing and ahhing, Bathed in the warm glow of a miniature king,
So like this year’s trends, or the newest of fashion, People queued up, in line for their ration.
For this last piece of the puzzle to make their lives complete, Surely this man had accomplished that feat.
To give people a slice, an aspect of heaven,
That they can now place by their microwave oven.

One could now marvel at the brilliance of man,
To take all the world’s power and all the knowledge we can,
And cram it all in to our pockets of comfort, The houses and homes within which we all fit. Like the remote for a TV,
This made life too easy,
People would sit and be fed life through a drip. That great glowing ball that gave life to us all, Was no longer part of their lives.

Whilst the bare outside suffered and gradually died, Everything inside flourished and thrived.
But what appeared to be vibrant,
Was in fact stale and stagnant.
Life had been confined to four walls.
What may have seemed perfect on top of the gloss, Was cracked and distorted, all natural feel lost. People would sit, stifled, confined,
All amenities there but no room for the mind,
To wander and soar in the open outdoors,
What appeared to be gain was the greatest of loss.

Then on a day like the last, and the one before that, These suns all extinguished leaving ash where they sat. The power went down, and the heat and the light,
Not a person could fix it try as they might.
So they ventured outside, long since they’d been, Anywhere except in front of a screen,
And witnessed no sun, nowhere in the sky,
Just a dim awful glow, like the world on standby.
Could it have been that the sun really left,
From a place that had forgotten and left it for dead.

Now that man that we met, who conjured this mess,
Who sought the sun’s death, that he considered success, Could not understand, as his sun withered and died,
How his power was blown, like a filament fried.
He too stepped outside of his same quiet house,
And the blacks of his eyes gasped!
As before him was stood the same crowd that once paid,
For the power that he had so proudly displayed.
They accused him of lying, weaseling, cheating,
Forcing the sun from its powerful seating.
In their scorn and their fury,
Being both his judge and his jury,
The man had a moment so lucid.
It was a feeling of loss, despair and remorse,
Those feelings of anger had just run their course.
The hole that he filled with anger and pain,
Had been directed towards that, which sparked joy in his brain
And no sun, no computer with all knowledge and content, Would bring back the one thing that made him content.

So that man who waged war,
on nature’s very own law,
let go of the anger that, for so long, he wore,
And then there was suddenly not a thing that remained, The energy that forced him, drove him, had wained,
He slipped away, surrounded in light,
And would never again see the dark of the night.