Like many, I first learned of Jonestown and Peoples Temple after hearing the 45-minute portion of the devastating events that unfolded on November 18th, 1978 immortalized on Tape Q 042, otherwise known as the \u201cdeath tape.\u201d After some research, I listened again, focusing in for every second, trying to put myself into the shoes of not just the Temple members themselves, but into those of Jim Jones, too. A voice, of whom I later found to be Christine Miller, seemed to be the only honestly reluctant person in the tape.<\/p>\n
This triggered a long standing fascination: how could these people be so passionately united in such an irrational and unreasonable mindset put to them by clearly a very tired, delusional and frantic man? But these initial thoughts came from the slightly more ignorant side of me, as I would soon discover as I delved further into the story. It became clear to me that the majority of the people who died that day weren\u2019t seeking death, but \u2013 in complete contrast \u2013 simply a good standard of life, one of equality, freedom and free of oppression in an era where all of this still seemed so far away. One thing that rang true in every voice I heard: they had all turned to Jim Jones seeking a leader, but instead found a very complex, troubled and destructive man.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s this tape which became the basis for my first poem, \u201cThe Colour of Fire.\u201d It speaks from the perspective of Jim Jones, as he prepares to lead his people into death. But then a woman named Allain protests \u2013 her pleas are in bold \u2013 that, even as she is willing to die for Jim Jones, she also thinks there is a reason to live.<\/p>\n
The Colour of Fire \u2013 Part 1
\n<\/strong>
\nI will paint the walls with fire
\nIn the wooden slumber shack I once called home
\nEmbrace the desire to take the streets,
\nand gather each pair of eyes I no longer know
\nand see into them like the beauty of my love
\nwhose eyes are a tool
\nwhich she lends generously to the world with every glance
\nAnd together we\u2019ll paint the streets the colour of fire
\nlike the pitiful pits of hell, yellow, orange and red
\nThe children snatched from their beds
\nand together their skin will burn<\/p>\nWar helmets and war guns
\nland on our heads and into our arms
\nAnd together we march into battle
\nBut the guns shall not face outwards, but inward
\nLike our children our bodies shall burn by our fingertips
\nas the taste of poison touches our lips
\nAnd our spirits and our souls will raise up
\nand together we\u2019ll board the ship of eternity
\nthat\u2019s hidden behind the emerging sun
\nOur time has come
\nFor what\u2019s done is done
\nand what\u2019s dead is dead<\/p>\nSo mothers of mothers
\nand children of children
\ncalm each other as I paint you with flames
\nThe beautiful colour of an apocalyptic sky
\nbecause you will never know a more honourable feat
\nFor all we shall do, is step into another plane<\/p>\nYou will never know love,
\nlike the way my heart beats for you now
\nAnd you will never feel such soft loving lips
\nAs are mine, rested against your head
\nlike a mother with her child at her breast<\/p>\nWe\u2019ve been betrayed, so horribly betrayed
\nBy our own brothers that wish to stay
\nOn the streets, bitter and blue
\na contrast to the bright sky of the day<\/p>\nSo lay down the lifeless bodies of our fallen brothers and sisters
\nAnd dip your glasses into the pool of punch
\nand let\u2019s raise a toast to the waves
\nthat are soon to wash them away<\/p>\nTogether we lived
\nand together we\u2019ll die
\ntogether we\u2019ll be born
\ninto another life, Amen<\/p>\nAs your fair father, I hear your cries
\nSo now it\u2019s time for your voices to be heard
\nto speak out upon this beautiful day,
\nChild, what is your name?<\/p>\nIt\u2019s Allain.
\nI will follow you out into the field of flames
\nand embrace your words as the word and will of god
\nfor we are all aboard a sinking ship
\nin the vast ocean, gasping for our last breath
\nBut as my veins turn black,
\nAnd I feel the strengh of the sea
\nI know I can still swim
\nas my arm reaches up to the head of the waves,
\nI know I can still breath
\n<\/strong>
\nYour will is to live?<\/p>\nMy will is to survive!<\/strong><\/p>\n
Then lay down with your protests and die,
\nfor this is the only way for you to survive
\nIn our world plagued with lies<\/p>\nI am a soldier for no man, but the creator
\nso before I tap your glass and resist my final breath
\nand let my fingers fall through the tide
\nI will speak for the last time,
\nFor in your tired eyes
\nI see only the hands of god<\/strong><\/p>\nI see the vomit of our pale faced children
\nand the vacant stare of the mothers, who\u2019s turn is soon to come
\nand the thoughts in my head only think of sadness
\nThey look to you for hope and hope that is promised
\nas a child looks through the window on a rainy day
\nhoping that soon he\u2019ll see the sun
\nMy only fear is that today, the rain will pass
\nand today the sun will be seen
\nOnly to blind us, as the poison that runs through my veins
\nhas blinded me now
\nI no longer see your face, and I no longer see god
\nMy senses are weakening
\nand I only smell the smoke in the sky
\nA result of you, an artist of fire
\nMy hands are shaking
\nAs the white pours from my mouth
\nI collapse into your arms and ask only this:
\nWhen will your glass be raised?<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n