Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Some poems don’t begin with an idea.

They begin with resistance.

This one came from that familiar place I’ve written about before: four in the morning, when the world is quiet enough that my thoughts become impossible to ignore.

I started writing about fear, but somewhere along the way I realized I wasn’t afraid of the page.

The page has never been the problem.

Ink has always been brave.

It says the things I hesitate to speak.

The real fear has always been what happens after the words exist.

What happens when a confession leaves the safety of metaphor.

When it stops being “the moon,” “the tide,” or “the shore,” and simply becomes the truth.

If you’ve read much of my recent work, you’ll probably recognize many of the images here. The moon. The bay. The ocean. The distant shoreline. Dreams that feel more like memories than imagination.

They’re all still here.

Only this time, the poem admits something they’ve been pointing toward all along.

Sometimes metaphors aren’t hiding the truth.

They’re slowly teaching us how to say it.

— Rowan Evans

More Afraid Than the Ink
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Four AM again—
I breathe in and try to center myself,
but it doesn’t seem to help.
My mind wanders—
moving from idea to truth
and back again,
carrying a collection of images
and broken metaphors.

The ink runs from my pen—
like it’s scared of it.
Because sometimes,
my thoughts are dark
and there’s no light in it.
It trembles—
lines becoming jagged
as the truth hits
a little too close to home.

And the metaphors
are broken for sure—
it’s like I see the moon,
but it doesn’t shimmer anymore.
I don’t see the bay,
I don’t feel the tide.

There’s no ache,
no longing for connection—
across a divide
an ocean wide.

Okay, I lied.

At night, when I close my eyes
and my head hits the pillow—
I feel the tide,
it tugs at the heartstrings inside.
I hear the waves, feel the ocean spray—
and I see the familiar shimmer,
the way the moon’s light trembles
across dark water.

The tide is why I dream of your shores—
it’s why I walk your streets in sleep.
And the moon provides the spotlight
for every confession
I speak with eyes closed…

for every confession
that I cannot say aloud,
not outside of my dreams—not now,
because I’m more afraid
than the ink is.

Journey into the Hexverse…

[When the Veil Is Thin]
Some truths wait until after four in the morning to make themselves known. When the Veil Is Thin explores insomnia, longing, quiet vulnerability, and the thoughts that become impossible to ignore before dawn.

[Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3)]
A moonlit shoreline, a rowboat full of ducks, a piggybank with no cents, and a confession hidden in plain sight. Ocean Waves (1, 4, 3) explores how humor, wordplay, and absurdity can become a side door to vulnerability when the truth feels too difficult to say directly.

[The Language Her Soul Speaks]
What if love isn’t about being understood, but learning to understand someone else? “The Language Her Soul Speaks” is a free verse poem about intimacy, communication, curiosity, and the desire to know another person beyond the limits of language.

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