Poetry by Rowan Evans

“Lilith”
By Rowan Evans

Oh Adam, how I pity you,
blind in your devotion, shackled by faith,
kissing the feet of a god who would unmake you
should you stray from his dictated path.
You were given the grace of forgetfulness,
your ribs still whole, your hands unburned—
for submission was your salvation.

But I? I was carved from the same dust,
shaped by the same hands,
breathed into with the same life.
Yet I was exiled for knowing my place—
not beneath, not behind,
but beside, with fire in my veins,
with the heavens in my eyes.

And you, God, whose name I no longer whisper,
tell me—why shape me in divine light,
only to banish me for daring to shine?
Why gift me knowledge, then damn me for wielding it?
Eve was given the choice—
tempted by fruit, by wisdom veiled in sin.
But I was granted no such offer,
only a sentence written in dust,
only the wrath of a maker who fears what he creates.

I did not bite the fruit—
for I was born knowing.
Truth was never forbidden,
it was woven into my bones,
etched into my soul before I even spoke.

You cast me into shadow,
not for wickedness, not for rebellion—
but because I refused to kneel.
Because I would not break,
would not yield,
would not be less
than what I was made to be.