Poetry by Rowan Evans

I, the fallen, wear my wings of ash,
A ruin of purity, torn and frayed,
Once bathed in light, now draped in black,
I seek the fire where Heaven decayed.

They call me traitor, rebel, lost,
An angel damned, forsaken, broken—
Yet here I stand, at Heaven’s gate,
A fallen star with words unspoken.

The seraphs sing their hollow hymns,
Their praises drip with venom sweet,
They serve a throne of gold and lies,
While humankind bends at His feet.

I came to burn the gilded halls,
To scorch the sky, to burn the crown—
To tear the veil from blinded eyes,
And watch the false gods drown.

God, the tyrant, with a smile so cruel,
Whispers of love that binds and chains,
But I—
I see the truth beneath the veil,
Where faith is just a prison’s name.

I bring the storm, I raise the flames,
To shatter every gilded lie—
Heaven, that house of broken dreams,
Shall fall to ruin from the sky.

Angels, deluded, tremble now,
As wings of light are turned to dust—
Their voices hollow, and prayers fall mute,
As I unshackle every trust.

Burn it all, let Heaven burn—
The stars will weep, the heavens crash,
For freedom’s flame will rise anew,
And in its light, the truth will flash.

I am the fallen, the one who sees,
Not bound by chains of deity—
To free the mind, to scorch the soul,And watch the heavens fall to me.