Poetry by Rowan Evans

They call me…
The shadow lurking just out of sight,
A whisper wrapped in the veil of night.
A curse upon those who dare betray,
The silent storm that won’t fade away.

They call me…
The hand that grips the throat of fate,
A nightmare forged from love and hate.
A ghost with a hunger, a beast unchained,
A reckoning dressed in blood and pain.

Hurt her once, and I’ll let you plead,
Hurt her twice, and I’ll watch you bleed.
She is the sun, the light in my veins,
And I am the fire that devours your name.

You bring harm—I bring despair,
A whispered prayer turns to poisoned air.
Your sins will drown in rivers of red,
Your name will rot, forgotten, dead.

They call me…
A blade in the dark, a demon’s breath,
The promise whispered before your death.
Her guardian, her shadow, her violent tide,
Her vengeance—walking, breathing, alive.

They call me… Retribution.