Poetry by Rowan Evans

“War… War Never Changes.”

The echoes of bombs long past still linger, 
A symphony of death with each trigger. 
Radiation’s kiss upon the air, 
A wasteland’s lullaby, cruel and unfair.

Vault Dweller:
I emerged from steel and safety, 
Where the world was a whisper, faint and hazy. 
The sun’s harsh glare, a foreign kiss, 
A reminder of all the comforts I miss. 
The scent of decay rides the wind’s breath, 
Each step a gamble with life and death. 
My Pip-Boy hums with every threat, 
Mutants, raiders, things best to forget. 
But this new world is a cruel teacher, 
No room for the naive, the fragile, or the weaker. 
In the darkened ruins, I find my stride, 
Surviving the wastes, with nowhere to hide.

Surface Dweller:
Born of dust and ash, I’ve known no walls, 
No metal haven, no sterile halls. 
The Wastes are my cradle, my savage land, 
Where every breath is survival’s demand. 
The taste of rad-tainted water on my tongue, 
A bitter reminder of battles won. 
The cry of Deathclaws in the night, 
A song of terror, a call to flight. 
I’ve seen the Brotherhood’s iron fist, 
And the Enclave’s lies wrapped in a twisted tryst. 
But I am the Wastes, they are me, 
In this scorched earth, I am free.

Ghoul:
Once a man, now a relic of war’s cruel jest, 
My flesh a mockery, no peace, no rest. 
I’ve wandered these wastes for countless years, 
A silent witness to blood and tears. 
The stench of rot clings to my skin, 
Yet I remember when life wasn’t so thin. 
I’ve traded with caravans, fought in the Pitt, 
Saw Rivet City rise from the abyss. 
Ghouls like me, we’re cursed to roam, 
But these ruins, they’re our only home. 
I hear the whispers of those who fear, 
But I’ve outlasted all they hold dear. 
In Megaton’s shadow or Tenpenny’s walls, 
I’ve survived where the strongest falls.

The Wastes:
Radscorpions skitter in the dead of night, 
Super Mutants revel in their twisted might. 
The scent of charred flesh and the taste of despair, 
A reminder that hope is ever so rare. 
Yet amidst the ruins, life clings tight, 
In the darkest corners, it finds its light.

“War… War Never Changes.”
But the Wastes, they whisper of change, 
Of life forged in pain, of paths deranged. 
Survival is the only creed, 
In this world where hunger is the only need. 
From Vaults to shanties, from power to dust, 
We all share the same fate, in the Wastes we trust. 

Each day is a battle, each breath a fight, 
In the world’s dark heart, we find our might. 
The Wastes consume, but they also give birth, 
To legends untold, forged from the earth. 
In the shadow of war, we rise and we fall, 
But the Wastes remember, they remember it all.