Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

I’m writing this for myself as much as for anyone else. Depression is a beast that convinces me not to exist, that twists my sadness into rage and makes even the smallest things unbearable. I need this reminder: these feelings are heavy, but they are not permanent.

Right now, I’m in the thick of depression—the kind that makes everything feel heavier than it should, the kind that tells you nothing will ever change. It’s a hell of a beast, whispering permanence into what I know are only temporary storms.

This poem is me fighting back against that lie. A reminder to myself that emotions are not stone; they are waves. They crash, they recede, they come again—but none of them last forever.

If you’re reading this and carrying something heavy too, know that you’re not alone in it. These are temporary emotions. Even when it feels impossible to believe, the tide does turn.

Temporary Emotions
Poetry by Rowan Evans

In the garden of feelings, where shadows bend and sway,
Petals of joy and sorrow bloom, then fall away.
A riot of colors, fleeting, alive—
Whispers of truth hum beneath the hive.

Emotions are lanterns, trembling with light,
Flickering through darkness, fragile as night.
They waver, they vanish, dissolve in the air—
Here for a heartbeat, then gone without care.

Do not carve choices in unyielding stone
When tides of the heart shift and pull you alone.
Bend, stumble, sway, but do not yield—
Even shadows retreat when dawn is revealed.

Feelings crash like waves on jagged, dreaming shores;
Grief gnaws the marrow, hope rises and soars.
Night bows to dawn in its ghostly fire,
Ash gives way to a tender desire.

Though emotions may bind with chains cold and tight,
Time’s patient fingers restore your sight.
Let them flow like rivers in spring—
Do not dam the heart; let truth take wing.

Seek a friend, a page, a mirror to speak,
Pour your pulse into ink, let your spirit leak.
Feelings, like seasons, shimmer, then flee;
The storm may roar, but it teaches to be.

Step into the tide, feel its swell and its pull;
The ebb is as sacred as the full.
Remember, dear heart, this gentle decree:
All that you feel will one day set you free.

In this shifting garden, where shadows and sun entwine,
Each fleeting heartbeat can burn, can shine.
Ride the currents, let the day sway—
Tomorrow blooms anew in its spectral ballet.

Closing Note

If you’re reading this and carrying the same weight, know this: we don’t have to conquer the beast today. We just have to outlast it. These storms will pass, and when they do, we’ll still be here—tired, maybe, but alive. And sometimes, that is enough.