Joe Ray Poems

Clouds gather and form moving towards a final storm; electricity charged they crackle and surge holding on fast to their thunderous urge.

The clouds collide at altitude height, waiting to release a flash of lightning with all of their might.
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War

An argument, a protest, a fight for what seems right, leads two sides to battle, what a horrible sight.
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This year is now old, with 365 days told, and a final night will ensure the past has been sold.

We look at the clock, watching the expectant hours tick by, and crowds surround us on an atmosphere high.
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Some people hate, but that’s their choice and they should not be encouraged an ill fate; face & race may be seem out of place, but none are, in this world’s time and space.

We are the same and not same, from different places all of us came, colour, culture and faith create a world mystique, sometimes interpreted by the different languages we speak.
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