Nai Yang

The water rolls seamlessly on the glowing bay.

Trees upturned, root dispersed as the water licks at it’s wooden hand. 

Crabs shoot like crooked bullets darting to and fro into dens. 

The wind is harsh but forgiving on the bay of Nai Yang 



As I head up the rocky path towards,
I think to myself before I see.
What if I was wrong?
The promises I kept, the way I lived my life.
What if I was wrong?

Three words, seven letters. Yet no meaning.
I got hung up on the wrong one.
Maybe they’ll forgive me?
No else will,
Maybe they’ll forgive me?

The path is jagged and rough,
More than once I trip,
Can I stop falling?
The damage is irreparable
Can I stop falling?

As I make it to the top I give out.
His radiance transparent through my disbelief.
He is disappointed.
How much did a little faith cost?
No, this world is our domain.
I will not hang up my faults on a whim.

I will carry them like the cross they are.
As I stumble and fall on this sharp path
Will I make it?
I need not forgiveness but to forgive.
I have to make it.

This is my crucible.


That’s what it means.

To have the courage to be imperfect.
That’s what it means.
To expose our vulnerabilities to those around us.

Showing them the cracks in our positive masks.
That’s what it means.
To know that no-one is alright. 

Ever since ignorance was stripped from us.

Ever since we opened our eyes to the true terror of the world.

That’s what it means.
The harsh reality that our mortality is the reason we treasure everything so dearly.

That very own mortality being snuffed out like a flame by those who exploit life. 

We are glass. We are delicate. We are the sands that sweep past your feet. We are part of this world and we will not be ignored. 
That what it means. 
What it means to be human.