Author’s Note

Crossroads of Flame was born from a moment of choosing discomfort over safety, and creation over silence. It reflects the turning point between who I was and who I am becoming—not only as a poet, but as the many voices I carry within me. Roo, Hex, B.D., and I each walk different inner landscapes, but all of us share the same ember: the belief that the unknown is worth stepping into, even when it burns.

This poem marks a new phase of intention. A deliberate path forward. A reminder that comfort is quiet, but purpose is loud—and I am choosing to listen.

Rowan Evans


Poetic gothic illustration of a lone figure at a crossroads under a twilight sky, facing a wild burning path toward the unknown.
A crossroads beneath a burning sky—the moment intention becomes transformation.

Crossroads of Flame
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I stand at a crossroads—
two paths stretch beneath a waning sky,
one worn and familiar, lined with shadows I know,
the other narrow, veiled in bramble and whispered risk.

The first hums a lullaby of comfort,
soft, forgiving, predictable.
I could walk it blindfolded,
count the cracks beneath my feet,
and know I will not falter.

But the second calls in a voice I barely recognize,
a tremor beneath the wind,
a hint of fire beneath frost.
It asks nothing of me—yet demands all:
my attention, my courage, my deliberate steps.

I carve my own instead.
Through tangled shrubs and corridors of darkened wood,
I trace a path that no map can hold,
listening to the pulse beneath my ribs,
the hum that answers back:
Roo, Hex, B.D., and me—
four voices intertwined,
four flames in one vessel,
guiding, guarding, urging.

Alone—yet never alone—
I step carefully, feeling each stone,
each thorn, each sigh of wind through the leaves.
The safe path still beckons behind me,
a ghost of ease I might have chosen.
But the wild one waits, insistent,
its promise stitched with challenge
and the weight of things I have yet to become.

I am the storm and the calm,
the knife that severs hesitation,
the hand that steadies,
the ember that refuses to die.
I am the whisper in the dark corridors,
the laughter in the bramble,
the ache that drives me forward.

Tonight I choose not comfort.
Tonight I choose intent.
Tonight I choose to step beyond what I know,
into the narrow, the jagged, the luminous unknown,
and let the path unfold beneath my careful flame.


If you’re looking for more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]


Leave a comment and tell me which path you would choose.

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