Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Some dreams feel symbolic.

Others feel instructional.

This poem came from that second feeling.

The beach, the horizon, the whispers, and the footprints aren’t meant to be frightening. They’re invitations. They represent the quiet moments when life seems to pause long enough for us to notice something we’ve been overlooking within ourselves.

I’ve written often about dreams leading me toward places that feel like home. This time, the destination wasn’t a city or a shoreline—it was a version of myself.

The footprints became a simple question:

What if the person I’m trying to become has been leaving signs for me all along?

Sometimes growth doesn’t happen by discovering somewhere new.

Sometimes it happens by recognizing the path we’ve already been walking, even when we couldn’t see it at the time.

This poem lives in that space between mystery and recognition, where intuition quietly whispers louder than certainty ever could.

— Rowan Evans

Following the Footprints
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I sat at the ocean’s edge,
watching as the tide came and went—

I was lost in thought,
eyes locked on the horizon.
I was watching the sun set
as night came—

I watched the light fade.

I could hear the echoes
of whispers and laughter,
they seem to ring—
from every direction.

The beach was littered
with footprints—
but not a person in sight,
something didn’t feel right.

The air felt too still,
like the world had paused
mid‑breath.

Even the waves moved quietly,
as if they were trying
not to disturb whatever
was watching me back.

I stood up slowly,
not out of fear,
but out of recognition—

like I had been here before,
in another dream,
as another version of myself
I hadn’t met yet.

The sky darkened
in a way that felt deliberate,
as if the night was arriving
for me specifically.

The whispers grew softer,
closer,
almost familiar—

like memories I’d forgotten
were trying to find their way back.

I turned toward the footprints,
each one pressed deep
into the sand,
leading somewhere
I couldn’t see.

And I knew,
without knowing how,
that if I followed them,
I would find the part of myself—

I had been missing
for years.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[Pointing Me Home]
The final poem in the No Metaphor Left Behind trilogy explores dreams, hope, and belonging. Through moonlight, ocean tides, and quiet conversation, Pointing Me Home reflects on carrying hope long before reaching the place you call home.

[Only Waiting]
The second poem in the No Metaphor Left Behind series, exploring the quiet ache of growing up in a place that never truly felt like home—and finally saying aloud what years of metaphor had been trying to express.

[Crossing the Sea]
A deeply personal poem about relocation, longing, and the realization that some truths naturally arrive through metaphor—even when we try to leave it behind.

[Caller ID: Destiny]
Sometimes the places we visit in our dreams feel more like home than the places we wake up in. Caller ID: Destiny explores longing, belonging, and the quiet feeling that life is calling you toward somewhere new.

[Returning to My Bones]
Some dreams fade the moment we wake. Others leave behind emotions that linger long after reality returns. Returning to My Bones explores the strange grief of leaving a dream that felt real enough to matter.

[Before My Feet Touch the Floor]
What happens when your dreams feel more real than your waking life? Before My Feet Touch the Floor explores the strange grief of waking up, the lingering memory of dream selves, and the quiet question of which version of us is truly real.

[Just Beyond Waking]
A street that feels familiar. A life that hasn’t happened yet. Just Beyond Waking explores the fragile space between dreams, memory, longing, and the quiet feeling that some futures are already waiting for us.

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