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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: connection

  • Fragile Pulse — A Poem About Finding Humanity Beneath the Machinery | Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Fragile Pulse came from watching the world move on autopilot—how easily people slip into routines, expectations, and identities that aren’t truly their own. It’s a poem about alienation, yes, but also about the quiet, stubborn spark that still lives beneath all that machinery.

    This piece is my reminder that even in places that feel lifeless or mechanical, there are moments of real humanity—small flickers of authenticity that reach back when we reach out. It’s about connection in a world that often forgets how to feel, and about what it means to notice the spark in someone who thought theirs had gone out.

    A fragile pulse is still a pulse. And sometimes, that’s enough to change everything.

    Illustration of a single glowing human figure surrounded by robotic, mechanical figures moving in a cold, dystopian cityscape.
    A fragile spark in a mechanical world — the pulse that refuses to fade.

    Fragile Pulse
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Oh, you’re here?

    Do you hear that?

    Listen—
    the hum of motors,
    the whir of gears.
    You see a land of people;
    I see a land of robots—
    not thinking,
    only following programs.

    They walk past you,
    faces blank,
    eyes fixed,
    hands moving in repetition,
    hearts forgotten in the chest,
    souls traded for schedules.

    And I watch—
    not with hope,
    not with judgment,
    but with quiet fascination
    at how easily the mind bends
    when freedom is a stranger.

    Do you hear it too?
    The faint pulse beneath the circuits,
    the tiny spark of something
    that refuses to be programmed.
    It’s fragile—
    like a candle in a storm,
    but it exists.
    I can feel it,
    even if the rest cannot.

    I reach out—
    not with force,
    not with commands,
    but with a touch gentle enough
    to tremble against wires and bone.

    Some notice;
    some do not,
    but the ones who do
    flicker for a moment—
    a shadow of thought
    breaking through the rhythm
    of their programming.

    And in that flicker,
    I see the impossible:
    a memory, a desire,
    a pulse that answers mine.
    A whisper shared
    between what is alive
    and what has almost forgotten how.

    Maybe it’s nothing,
    just a flicker in the dark,
    but even a single spark
    can set a world alight.
    I hold it close—
    this fragile pulse—
    and for a heartbeat,
    the land of robots
    becomes a land of us.

    If you enjoyed this piece, check out my full archive here: [The Library of Ashes]

  • The Smallest Prayer – A Minimalist Poem on Connection by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This is a quiet invocation of connection and hope—a brief, intimate reflection on the beauty of shared moments, even in their smallest form. Sometimes the smallest words carry the deepest meaning.

    Two hands reaching toward each other in a soft, glowing twilight, representing connection and intimacy.
    Even the smallest gestures hold profound meaning.

    The Smallest Prayer
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Thoughts.
    Dreams.

    You and I—

    Us.

    Together.

    Reaching.
    Seeing.

    To read more of my work, find it here: [The Library of Ashes]

  • I Love You (Enough to Learn You) – Vow III: Understanding | Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    The Vows began as an exploration of devotion — not the romanticized kind, but the kind forged in ache, honesty, and reverence.

    Vow I was surrender: letting the ink run dry, allowing love to unmake what was hardened.
    Vow II was endurance: the willingness to break, to bear the bruise and still remain.
    And Vow III — this final vow — is understanding: the quiet promise to listen, to learn, and to love without translation.

    Together, they form a trinity of intimacy — the heart’s slow evolution from sacrifice to fluency, from bleeding to belonging.

    This isn’t a story of martyrdom. It’s a story of witnessing: of meeting someone’s soul and saying, I see you, I’ll learn you, I’ll speak your language.
    That is the purest vow I know.

    — Rowan Evans

    “Two hands nearly touching through candlelight over scattered handwritten vows and ink-stained pages — symbolizing understanding and emotional intimacy.”
    “The final vow — not of silence or breaking, but of becoming fluent in another’s heart.” — Rowan Evans

    I Love You (Enough to Learn You)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’d let the ink run dry,
    then I’d break willingly.
    That was vow one,
    and vow two.
    This is vow three—for you.

    I love you enough
    to put you first—
    to make you a priority
    in my life.
    Everyone else be damned,
    I will—

    learn your language,
    learn the nuance,
    so you can speak freely,
    say exactly what you need.

    I will learn the cadence of your world,
    so I can understand—
    not to change you,
    but to meet you where you are.

    I love you enough to listen
    when words falter,
    to read what your silence says
    when your voice can’t.

    I’ll make a home in your pauses,
    a temple in your sighs.
    You gave me peace—
    so I’ll give you peace of mind.

    I’ll give you understanding—
    that’s vow three.
    Not of silence,
    not of breaking,
    but of becoming fluent
    in your heart.

    The Silent Vows

    [I Love You (Enough to Go Silent)]
    A vow written in ink and silence — a confession of love so deep it would sacrifice its own voice to spare another’s tears. “I Love You (Enough to Go Silent)” is a Neo-Gothic devotion from Rowan Evans, where the act of not speaking becomes the loudest declaration of love.

    [I Love You (Enough to Break Willingly)]
    A vow whispered in ink and ache — love not as surrender, but as shared endurance. “I Love You (Enough to Break Willingly)” is Rowan Evans’ second vow, a quiet confession of devotion that chooses breaking over leaving, and burden over indifference.

  • The Glue That Binds – Bilingual Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem includes lines in Tagalog, a language I am currently learning. I am not from the Philippines, but I have a deep admiration for Filipino culture and the warmth of its people. I sometimes weave Tagalog into my poetry as a way to practice and retain what I’m learning, exploring how the language can carry emotion and rhythm. Translations are provided beneath the Tagalog lines for readers who do not speak the language.

    The poem is an ode to connection, love, and the binding power of words across languages.

    Two hands reaching toward each other over a night sky filled with golden threads and stars, representing connection and love.
    “Binding souls across languages and hearts, through words that hold us together.”

    The Glue That Binds
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Words of love on my tongue, they dance, they fall,
    A symphony of whispers that rise, then call.
    But my mind, it runs, relentless, untrue,
    And it always runs back to you.

    Sa labirinto ng aking mga pira-pirasong iniisip,
    (In the labyrinth of my scattered thoughts,)
    Ikaw ang sinulid na nag-uugnay, ang nagbubuklod.
    (You are the thread that ties, the one that knots.)
    A binding force, a gentle embrace,
    You hold the pieces of my scattered grace.

    Ikaw ang pandikit na nagbubuklod sa aking wasak na isipan.
    (You’re the glue that binds my fractured mind.)
    The perfect muse, one of a kind.
    In every thought, you softly reside,
    Whispering secrets I can no longer hide.

    Your presence paints, in vivid hues,
    A canvas of words where beauty brews.
    I find new verses, like rivers they flow,
    Crafting hymns where love and longing grow.

    Mas maganda pa kaysa sinumang banal na kasulatan,
    (More beautiful than any holy scripture,)
    Mas dalisay kaysa anghel na umaawit, mas sagana.
    (More pure than angels singing, richer.)
    Sa aking puso, muling isinulat mo ang mga awit.
    (In my heart, you write the songs anew.)
    And I realize: every word, every line, leads me back to you.

    If you are moved by this poem, you may also explore these works, where yearning, exile, and the beauty of culture intertwine:

    Escape & Longing | Tropical Dreams & Distant Shores
    Step into the world of yearning and distant horizons. Rowan Evans explores the pull of faraway shores, the desire to breathe free, and the quiet hope of finding a home beyond the known.

    Slim & Shady VIII | Exile & Echoes
    In Exile & Echoes, the eighth installment of the Slim & Shady series, Rowan Evans explores the haunted silence of exile and the reverberations of memory. A confessional piece that balances shadow, identity, and ruin within the framework of Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.

    In Tongues & Travels | A Celebration of Language & Culture
    A reflection on the beauty of language and culture, and the devotion of witnessing the world with reverence and curiosity. (A reflective piece exploring the beauty of language and cultural connection—perfectly aligned with the Tagalog lines woven into The Glue That Binds.)

    Drifting Without Roots | A Poem on Cultural Identity & Longing
    A confessional poem exploring envy of cultural heritage, the ache of disconnection, and the search for belonging in a fractured identity.

  • To Be Near Your Flame – Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some connections strike with a force that makes us linger in the light, even when shadows have always been our refuge. This piece explores that fragile balance—the tension between caution and desire, between self-preservation and the magnetic pull of another soul. It is an ode to the quiet bravery of staying present, even when the heart risks everything for the chance to be near someone who ignites it.

    Flickering candle in a dark room, casting warm, intimate shadows.
    A quiet flame mirrors the gentle longing of the heart—intimate, steady, and unwavering.

    To Be Near Your Flame
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    This is all new to me—
    this need to speak your name,
    to feel your laugh
    echoing through the quiet spaces
    of my heart.

    Usually, I retreat—
    pull away,
    hide in the shadows
    until feelings
    fade
    like whispers lost to the wind.
    But with you?

    With you, I linger.
    Even if the light burns,
    even if it ends
    with heartbreak’s echo,
    I don’t want to run.
    You make me feel alive—
    when before, I was just a ghost,
    moving through motions
    without meaning.

    You’re so easy to talk to,
    a melody in human form,
    and I would trade sleep for your voice,
    give hours to the night
    just to hear
    the way you say my name—
    a moth to your flame,
    willing to burn
    if it means I can stay near.

    You are always in my thoughts,
    painting every corner of my mind
    with your smile,
    your laugh,
    the softness of your being.

    And still—
    if all I can do
    is help you find happiness,
    even if not beside me,
    even if my arms stay empty
    while you shine elsewhere—
    I will do it.
    For your smile is worth
    every sacrifice,
    every unspoken wish,
    every late-night conversation
    under distant skies.

    Benediction

    May the hearts who wander in shadow find courage to linger in the light.
    May the flame of connection burn bright, steady, and unashamed.
    And may love, in its quiet, unwavering form, teach us the art of devotion without demand,
    The grace of presence without possession,
    And the sacred truth that to be near another is sometimes the bravest act of all.