Poetry by Rowan Evans

You placed trust in my hands—
a thing so delicate, I feared my own touch
might shatter it like frost-kissed glass.
So I hold it with steady palms,
fingertips whispering promises
only the careful can keep.

I know the weight of failure,
the ghost of every broken vow,
names scrawled on a list of regret,
the ink of disappointment bleeding
through the pages of history.
I refuse to be another smudge,
another name lost in the wreckage
of careless hearts.

So I build a fortress around this gift,
not of stone, but of gentle hands,
of words I will turn into actions,
of moments that say, I see you,
of quiet proof that trust is not a gamble
but a seed that can bloom.

I will not falter.
I will not fail you.
This trust—
your trust—
is a promise I make with every breath.