I used to know a man

who had nothing, but wanted something,

as every man does.

A special man, with a special skill,

the skill to create.

He crafted simplistic mechanisms at first,

convenience for the consumers.

In years he'd had sold to any and every place,

his heart fueled the passion of his craft.

Every positive review beckoning him to ask the question,

Of what it was he truly wanted.

The sunnier side of the fence, or so they say,

but a storm cloud soon grew,

A conspiracy was stirring,

and now men were asking for assistance.

The man's loyalty led him to a deal,

They promised his wealth would be exponential,

That if he helped them craft,

He'd never leave the sunny side.

And so the new man accepted,

Given a facility to craft their desires,

Though these crafts were unlike things before,

He perfected them like all else.

His wealth propagated as quickly as they said,

with every payment a king's ransom.

He worked tirelessly to sell only the new creations,

 And soon, they invited him someplace.

They showed him the fruits of his crafts,

watching a city through a screen.

A creation bore down into a sun,

Everything was white.

As the light dimmed, the man realized

he'd preferred if it had not.

For a shape formed over the carasses

Of millions he'd helped to provide.