Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem came directly from a real experience.

I had fallen asleep.

When I “woke up”, and I had closed my eyes for only a moment, and suddenly I wasn’t in my room anymore.

I was standing in an airport.

Not imagining one.

Experiencing one.

I could hear jet engines humming. I could hear people talking around me. I could hear footsteps crossing polished tile. It was detailed enough that, for a few seconds, I questioned whether I’d actually opened my eyes at all.

When I finally did, my bedroom was still there.

The airport wasn’t.

But it also didn’t feel entirely gone.

That strange overlap fascinated me.

It wasn’t a dream in the usual sense, because I knew I was awake.

It wasn’t reality either, because I knew where I actually was.

It was something in between.

I’ve written many poems about dreams, liminal spaces, and the moments where consciousness feels uncertain.

This felt different.

There wasn’t fear.

There wasn’t confusion.

There was only hesitation.

A quiet instinct that if I moved too quickly, I might somehow choose one reality over another.

The final lines stayed almost exactly as they arrived because I realized they didn’t need an explanation.

Sometimes the most honest thing a poem can do is preserve uncertainty instead of solving it.

I still don’t know exactly what happened that morning.

I only know how it felt.

And sometimes feeling is the only truth poetry needs.

— Rowan Evans

Where I Belonged
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I closed my eyes—
my room around me,
then the hum
of jet engines filled the air.
The muttering of people,
and footsteps as they
walked past me.

It shouldn’t have felt real,
but it did—

the cold tile under my feet,
the distant announcement
I couldn’t quite make out,
the sense that everyone
was going somewhere
except me.

I opened my eyes,
expecting the room
to steady itself,
but the air still carried
the echo of departure.

It felt like the world
had changed its mind
about where I was.
One moment: carpet, quiet,
the familiar weight of my own breathing.

The next: a terminal
I didn’t remember entering,
voices rising and falling
like tides around me.

I stayed still,
as if movement would decide
which reality I belonged to.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[Following the Footprints]
Standing alone on a quiet shoreline, the speaker discovers mysterious footprints leading into the unknown—and realizes they may point not toward another place, but toward the missing parts of themselves.

[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.

[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.

[A Heart That Echoes in Another Language]
A poetic journey through music across Japan, Korea, China, and the Philippines, exploring how sound becomes identity, memory, and emotional geography.

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