POETRY: Jim by Reggie Drake

It was if,
He knew me,
Before I knew myself,
They would say.
Standing erect on the pulpit preaching to a multitude of social degenerates behind ebony colored shades
That concealed a power hungry gaze
Intent on capturing the devotion of his followers,
Meticulously reconstructing morals and beliefs,
He served as their quick fix to the depressant known as oppression.
His mouth formed words held in high regard like Holy scriptures,
He was a compass of morality,
Those shades were a hypocrites masquerade of virtue as
His lips spun webs of intricate fascinations in the Hearts
Minds, and Souls of generations
Preying upon the vulnerabilities of the abused,
He stood,
He rose,
And he said .
"If you want be to be your friend, I will be your friend"
"If you want be to your hero, I will be your hero"
"If you want me to be your savior, I will be your savior"
"If you want me to be your God, I will be your God"...
And they believed.
They became blind fanatics under his divine sovereignty,
And he became the transcendent seraphim who's radiance seemed to was away the grime of yesteryear;
the pain, the suffering, the sorrow,
All of it lifted off their backs over that ill-fated journey to South America,
Leaving behind their loved ones
To create a death trap disguised as a utopia,
His voice reverberated in their eardrums every, waking moment because he feared the loss of that power.
And when it faded,
A simple solution was offered;
In the form of kool-aid mixed with poison,
But it wasn't the poison that killed those people,
It was his tongue, laced with a toxin that slowly contaminated the psyche of thousands,
Waging psychological warfare on innocents.
Their "god" was actually the devil in disguise wearing preachers garments and those ebony colored shades.
Those people used death as an exit to escape,
But not into salvation but unto damnation.
He watched the life dissipate out of the quivering bodies of his followers
Before he put a gun to his head and blew what little brains he had left out of his cranium.
The prophet known as Jim Jones plummeted to the ground with a thud that still ricochets with super sonic Speed inside the emotional makeup of survivors,
Who escaped the mental captivity of his oppression,
Breaking free from the shackles of coercion to blaze a trail to the jungles of freedom,
Away from the paroxysms of sorrow,
Away from the tears of blood running like waterfalls down dilapidated faces,
The horrifying images preserved like fossils in flashbulb memories that remember...
But won't forget.
Burying their loved ones in morgues.
No. They will never forget.
Ever.
Again.