Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

I wrote this in the quiet between 4 and 5 a.m., when my thoughts refused to let me sleep because they kept circling back to her. Not out of longing alone, but from a deeper wish—that she might know peace, that her smile might return without effort, that her chest might rise and fall free of heaviness. This piece is not a love poem in the usual sense. It is a prayer, a vow, a cathedral built from words to hold her burdens for a while so she can simply breathe.

A Cathedral for Her Peace
Poetry by Rowan Evans

She’s on my mind,
like all of the time.
Got me on my knees again
speaking to Him.
Just askin’ for ease,
begging for her peace.

“God… give me her trials,
let me carry the weight for a while.
I just want to see her smile.

Let me take away her pain—
be her umbrella in the rain,
the shelter when storms arrive.”

Let her walk where the sun leans soft,
where the wind sings lullabies instead of sirens,
where shadows dare not linger.
Let her laughter ring like bells in a cathedral,
her tears fall only for joy,
every sigh a hymn of comfort.

I will be the echo of her unspoken prayers,
the vessel that holds her storms,
the altar upon which her dreams may rest unbroken.
She deserves peace that drapes like velvet,
a hush that whispers, you are safe. You are enough.

She deserves to be spoiled in love, revered in touch,
to have every desire mirrored back as truth.
Let every gaze that falls upon her see her crown,
not a shadow to tame, but a flame to worship.
I will guard the sanctity of her being
as a priest guards a holy relic,
as a fortress holds the key to a kingdom.

I will carry the weight she should never have to bear,
stand unwavering where darkness tempts,
and watch over her like a cathedral standing sentinel
through every storm, every unkindness, every cruel word
the world might hurl her way.

Even if I am not the one to give it,
let me be the one to show her she is worth it all.
To show her she is lovable, truly,
even if she gets a little unruly,
even if the world whispers otherwise.
Let her know, without question,
that in my eyes, she is enough,
she has always been enough,
and she deserves nothing less than reverence.

Closing Note

If you’ve ever felt that same ache—for someone else’s joy to matter more than your own—then you already understand what this poem carries. Love is not always about possession or proximity; sometimes it is simply devotion, a fierce hope that the ones we care for find rest and light.

If this speaks to you, I invite you to share your own prayer, blessing, or small wish—for the person on your heart, for the soul you’d carry through storms if you could. Together, may we remind each other that reverence is not rare, and that offering peace to another is among the purest forms of love.

May these words linger like candlelight in the quiet corners of your heart. If you wish to wander further into shadows and flame, the doors of The Library of Ashes await, holding the stories of devotion, ruin, and reverence, all bound in ink and ember.