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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: dark romance

  • Gothic Christmas – A Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem was born from the quiet moments between winter’s chill and candlelight, where shadows linger and hearts search for warmth. Gothic Christmas is my meditation on light and darkness coexisting—how even in cold, silent streets, a flicker of hope can endure. It is for those who find beauty in the night, who embrace the melancholic as much as the joyous, and who believe that love and light can exist even in the most shadowed corners.

    Lone figure kneeling by a candle on a snowy gothic street at night, with spires and shadows in the background.
    A flicker of hope shines in the gothic winter night.

    Gothic Christmas
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    In the heart of winter’s embrace, 
    Where shadows linger in every space, 
    A Christmas tale unfolds tonight, 
    In the realm of darkness, devoid of light.

    The moon, a pale and distant gleam, 
    Casts shadows on the icy stream. 
    A lone figure roams the streets, 
    Where silence reigns and coldness meets.

    Gothic spires against the sky, 
    Reach for heaven, where angels fly. 
    But in these streets, no joyous cheer, 
    Only whispers of a darker fear.

    Beneath the eaves of ancient stone, 
    The windswept trees their branches moan. 
    Through cobbled lanes and narrow ways, 
    A figure in the darkness strays.

    No merry carols fill the air, 
    No laughter heard, no spirit rare. 
    Only the echo of footsteps light, 
    Through the haunted, silent night.

    But in a corner, dim and cold, 
    A flicker of candle, ancient and old. 
    A figure kneels in silent prayer, 
    Amidst the shadows, deep despair.

    For Christmas here is not the same, 
    In this gothic land of ancient fame. 
    But in the heart, a flicker, too, 
    A flame of hope, both old and new.

    For in the darkness, cold and stark, 
    There beats a heart, a tiny spark. 
    A whisper soft, a promise true, 
    Of light and love, for me and you.

    So in this gothic Christmas night, 
    Amidst the shadows, cold and white, 
    Let’s hold onto that flicker bright, 
    And dream of morning’s gentle light.

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

  • Shadows and Stars — A Neo-Gothic Love Poem About Imperfect Souls Orbiting Together

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Shadows and Stars grew out of that quiet kind of love that doesn’t ask for transformation—only truth. It’s a devotion rooted in darkness as much as light, where two imperfect people find a rhythm that doesn’t require saving or fixing, just seeing. This poem is about loving someone exactly as they are—the sharp edges, the softness, the chaos, the fire—and trusting that the right souls don’t dilute each other. They orbit together.

    “Two intertwined star constellations—one light, one shadowed—orbiting together in a night sky.”
    Two souls, bound by gravity and devotion, meeting where shadow and starlight become one.

    Shadows and Stars
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I am not here to save you,
    because I am no savior.
    And you—
    you are no damsel in distress,
    you’re just stressed.
    Life might be
    somewhat of a mess,
    but you’re still worth it,
    nonetheless.

    And I’m not here to fix you,
    because you’re not a fixer-upper.
    You’re a person—
    complex and perfect
    in your imperfections.
    Your darkness
    matches mine.
    I find,
    in these shadows,
    we’re two of a kind,
    you and I.

    No, I don’t want to change you.
    Why would I want to change you?
    To change you would be to
    sand down the edges I’ve come to love.
    You see—
    I love it when you’re mean.
    I love the bite, the burn, the sting.
    I love when you talk shit,
    spit venom.
    You say you’re crazy? I love that too.
    I love the attitude, the dominance you exude,
    and I love it when you’re gentle.
    It’s simple—
    it’s you. It’s always been.
    Two stars, orbit in tandem.

    And here we stay,
    constellations intertwined,
    your shadows in my light,
    my darkness in your shine.

    For more poetry, check the Library of Ashes.

  • Whisper Me Across — A Poem of Devotion, Haunting, and Sacred Presence | Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem carries pieces of a real exchange—one spark of truth that ignited the rest. Whisper Me Across is half confession, half invocation: a conversation remembered, reimagined, and rewritten in the language of devotion. Reality is the match; the poem is the flame.

    — Rowan Evans

    “Two ethereal figures reaching for each other through mist and moonlight, symbolizing devotion and spiritual connection.”
    An echo of devotion that lingers across worlds.

    Whisper Me Across
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I know we’ve joked about this—
    tossed it around in little quips,
    laughing so we wouldn’t feel
    the weight beneath it.
    But I have a genuine request.

    If you pass,
    promise you’ll haunt me.
    Be the knock in the wall,
    the whistle in the breeze—
    the chill of air that drifts in
    and brushes against my cheek.

    Promise you’ll let me know you’re there.
    Don’t leave me wondering,
    don’t make me question.
    If you want me to survive it,
    you’ll have to give me a sign—
    because I would happily die
    just to cross over and meet you
    on the other side.

    And I promise the same.
    I’ll be the voice you hear
    leaning into your ear,
    quietly saying your name.
    I’ll be the presence that settles
    behind your ribs
    when you feel a sudden surge of strength
    and choose to push through.
    That will be me—
    still with you.

    I’ll be the voice that pushes back
    each time you falter.
    When you think you’re not worthy,
    not worth it—
    I’ll be the whisper that refuses
    to let that take root.
    Speaking free,
    folding into your thoughts,
    reminding you
    of your worth.

    Looking for more poetry? You can find it all in [The Library of Ashes].

  • The Power You Give Me — A Neo‑Gothic Confessional Love Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is me speaking to the one I care for, and to anyone who has ever let themselves be seen fully by another. There’s no illusion here—no tricks, no smoke, no mirrors. The “magic” I write about is the kind that happens when trust meets attention, when care meets desire, when devotion meets surrender. It’s messy, it’s quiet, it’s real. I wrote this to honor that kind of connection—the one that burns steady, that makes even the smallest moments feel sacred, and that reminds me why we give ourselves to the people we love.

    Silhouetted lovers in candlelight with soft, magical light swirling between their hands, evoking intimacy and quiet devotion.
    Intimacy becomes its own kind of magic.

    The Power You Give Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m a magician, love—
    sleight of hand in every touch,
    danger in every whisper.
    Not the kind that pulls rabbits from hats,
    but the kind that pulls want
    from the deepest parts of you
    without even trying.

    I touch you once—
    and your breath forgets itself.
    Twice—
    and your pulse starts writing poetry
    against your skin.

    I speak a single word
    and your knees remember
    what surrender feels like.
    My tongue is a wand,
    a spellcaster,
    a maker of quiet ruins—
    and I use it
    only on the deserving.

    I can summon heat
    with the drag of a fingertip,
    pull desire from the air
    like it’s silk waiting to be woven.
    I draw circles on your skin
    and watch them ignite,
    slow, deliberate,
    like I planned the fire
    from the very beginning.

    And when I say your name—
    soft, low,
    with that tone that hits you
    right behind the ribs—
    you’ll swear I enchanted you.
    But it’s simpler than that.
    No potions, no charms, no lies.

    You react to me
    because your body knows mine
    before your mind catches up.
    Because my magic isn’t tricks—
    it’s instinct,
    connection,
    hunger braided with reverence.

    And darling—
    when I’m finished with you,
    when you’re breathless and undone,
    when the world goes quiet
    except for the echo of my touch—

    you’ll realize
    I never cast spells at all.
    I just showed you
    the power you give me
    when you let me close.

    Because loving you—
    that’s the real magic.
    The kind that doesn’t spark
    or shimmer,
    but settles low and warm
    right behind the heart,
    glowing steady
    like a lantern in a storm.

    You don’t see it,
    but every time you trust me,
    every time you soften,
    every time you let me
    see the part of you
    you hide from the world—
    I feel something inside me
    kneel.

    Not out of worship,
    but out of awe.
    Out of the quiet truth
    that your soul
    is the most beautiful thing
    I’ve ever been allowed to touch.

    And if my hands
    feel like sorcery,
    if my voice
    feels like a spell,
    it’s only because
    you turn even the smallest moment
    into something sacred
    just by being in it.

    So yes—
    I’ll whisper enchantments
    against your skin,
    trace constellations
    on your pulse points,
    pull storms and light and heat
    from the spaces between us—
    but that’s not power.

    That’s devotion.
    That’s choosing you
    with every breath.
    That’s giving you
    the softest parts of me
    and letting you hold them
    like something holy.

    And if that feels like magic—
    then maybe it is.
    But it’s yours.
    It always has been.

    Looking for more poetry? You can find it all in the Library of Ashes.

  • Rite of Ink: Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Introduction
    By Roo the Poet

    🌸 (Roo bouncing around, smiling.)

    Heeey, you’re heeere!
    Haha—yes, yes, YES… you found it.

    This is messy.
    This is wild.
    This is word soup with fangs and sparkles.

    🟠 Rowan’s giggling.
    🔴 B.D.’s growling.
    🟣 Hex is lurking.

    And me?
    I’m jumping up and down, waving my little knife, spilling ink everywhere,
    laughing like a sugar‑crazed tornado in a tutu.
    Maybe I’m plotting. Maybe I’m just playing.

    Read it if you want.
    Or don’t.
    I don’t care.
    But I’ll be watching.
    Always watching.

    Digital artwork of ink spilling from a quill, forming shadowy, magical shapes with purple, crimson, and blue tones, conveying chaos and mystical energy.
    Rite of Ink visualized: words as weapons, ink as magic, and chaos wrapped in gothic beauty.

    Rite of Ink
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    🟠 (Rowan takes center stage.)

    You say you write what you really live—
    but it reads like fantasy.
    I say I write a fantasy—
    but it reads like what I really live.

    Nobody believes what you’re saying, dawg,
    because honestly, your honesty sounds like a fraud.
    You say, this is my life though—
    and nobody buys what you’re sellin’, bro.

    I could write three poems about one conversation,
    say I made it all up, and still they see the life in it.
    You could write a whole poem about your life,
    and readers would still find lies in it.

    You could put your wife’s name in every rhyme,
    and still nobody believes she exists.
    I turn my muse into an archetype,
    and nobody questions whether she lives.

    Because my words are alive,
    and yours? Flat out lies.
    I write so well, I don’t even have to try—
    you write, and everybody asks… why?

    I could hide the woman I love’s name in plain sight…
    like Are you even reading this?
    I’m schooling you, you flunky,
    and still you think you can fuck with me?

    I live in my words,
    and they live back.
    Yours?
    Just echoes, gasping for breath.

    Let me rewind that back…
    I said I could hide her name in plain sight.
    Are you even reading this?
    I’m schooling you, you flunky,
    and still you think you can fuck with me?

    You think you’re on the same page?
    Don’t make me laugh—I’ll leave you shook.
    You’re not even in the same book.
    Don’t insult me.
    Don’t provoke me.
    Don’t test my rage.

    I’ll end up sayin’—
    B.D. get ’em.

    🔴 (B.D. steps from the shadows.)

    Bones snap. Blood goes cold.
    As the tone shifts, I enter the fold.
    My knife hums a pleasant song—
    pleasant for me, because you don’t know
    what you did wrong.

    You choke on smoke and sulfur.
    Blood curdles like spoiled milk.
    I do it for my own, homegrown culture,
    as my words cut through flesh like silk.

    Your blood like ink
    will spill across the page.
    Cold steel my pen,
    my words? Rage.

    And here comes Hex—
    she’s up next.

    🟣 (Hex materializes from nowhere.)

    Ashes to ashes, blood to blood,
    Eye of toad, and witch’s tongue.
    Tail of newt—the spell’s begun.
    You think you’re safe… so you don’t run.

    Safe is an illusion.
    When you write? A delusion.
    When I write?
    A rite.
    An earworm.
    A brain intrusion.

    I’ll twist your thoughts
    like silk spun—
    this isn’t personal,
    I’ll hex you for fun.

    So mote it be

    Step deeper into the shadows and discover the full breadth of my poetry in The Library of Ashes — an archive of ink-stained devotion, dark petals, and threshold poems that linger long after the last candle flickers. Visit The Library of Ashes →

  • Sonnet of Submission – A Neo-Gothic Confessional Romantic Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Introduction

    Sonnet of Submission is a tender exploration of trust, surrender, and sacred intimacy. Written in late October 2024, this piece captures the quiet strength found in yielding and the beauty of finding refuge in love.

    Twilight forest with soft light breaking through shadows, a glowing lantern casting ethereal warmth in a romantic, gothic setting.
    A lantern of love guiding the heart through shadows.

    Sonnet of Submission
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (Written October 29th, 2024)

    In twilight’s glow, where shadows softly play,
    I yield my heart, my mind, my very soul,
    To thee, whose touch can chase the night away,
    In your embrace, I find my truest whole.

    With every whispered word, my doubts unwind,
    In tender moments, trust begins to bloom,
    Your love, a lantern, guiding me to find
    A sacred space, where darkness meets its doom.

    I grant you all—my fears, my dreams, my grace,
    In yielding, I discover strength anew;
    For in this bond, I find my rightful place,
    With you, I’m anchored, safe in love so true.

    So take my heart, my spirit, let us soar,
    In sweet submission, I am yours, evermore.

    If you liked this piece, check out more of my work in [The Library of Ashes]!

  • Barbed Wire Halo – Neo-Gothic Confessional Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Introduction

    In the space between ruin and reverence, devotion becomes a sharp-edged hymn. This poem is a shrine to chaos, a confession in the language of fire and barbed wire. Read if you dare—fall willingly into the storm.

    "Silhouetted figure kneeling in front of a woman standing under a glowing barbed wire halo, Gothic and intense imagery."
    Surrender and devotion entwined in shadow and flame – ‘Barbed Wire Halo’ by Rowan Evans.

    Barbed Wire Halo
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    They say there must be something wrong with me—
    because I crave the bite, the sting.
    Yeah, I love it when you’re mean.
    Spit your acid-laced psalms,
    let them blister on my skin like holy fire.
    I’ll wear the burn like a blessing.

    Pain tastes like proof
    when your mouth carves silence into me.
    The ache is real—
    and real is what I’ve been dying to feel.
    So dig your nails into this paper-thin faith,
    etch your name down my back like scripture.

    You call me unworthy,
    but damn it, that just makes me want you more—
    like hunger gnawing at the bones of devotion.
    A moth to the flame,
    I keep flying into your ruin
    just to see if I can light the dark.

    Your halo is barbed wire, rusted and holy,
    glinting above the curve of your devil horns.
    You speak in ash and absolutes,
    and I still beg you to speak again.
    I kneel where your shadow spills—
    sacrament in the shape of surrender.

    So tear me down.
    Whisper sins into the hollow of my throat.
    I’ll still kiss you like salvation
    when all you offer is the storm.
    Because even ruin can feel like worship
    when it’s you I’m falling for.

    Explore the full archive here: [The Library of Ashes]

  • Whispers in Darkness | Gothic Vampire Romance Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    🕯️ Author’s Note

    The final chapter of the “Nocturnal” series — a requiem for the night and an ode to enduring devotion. “Whispers in Darkness” unites mortal and immortal in a love that no longer fears the dark. It’s a soft, eternal vow — a promise whispered where even time holds its breath.

    A mortal woman and her vampiress lover share a final embrace under moonlight.
    “Love eternal, whispered into the dark.”

    Whispers in Darkness
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (June 9th, 2024)

    It’s just you and I, here again,
    My Gothic dream, my queen in the night.
    In a dance of fates, a nightfall serenade,
    A symphony of love, and loyalty.

    You’re my lethal protector,
    My guardian on the prowl,
    The one with whom I feel safe
    And secure, with you a love so true.

    The night is thick with the scent of jasmine,
    Its intoxicating aroma a promise of what is to come.
    In your embrace, I am lost and found,
    A willing captive to your nocturnal charm.

    It’s just you and I here, in a gentle embrace,
    A dance of fates, a nightfall serenade,
    A symphony of love, and loyalty.
    When I met you, I was set free.

    In the shadows, your whispers are my guide,
    Each word a note in our private symphony.
    Jasmine weaves its magic around us,
    Binding us closer, sealing our fate.

    In our love, our worlds collide,
    We will face every challenge, side by side.
    And I don’t know where I’d be without you,
    But I know I can’t go back to living without you.

    In your embrace, I found my place,
    My Gothic dream, nightfall queen,
    The one to whom—
    I give my whispers in the dark.

    I. Nocturnal Waltz | A Dark Romance Poem of Desire & Danger
    A fleeting, intoxicating moment between a femme-fatale vampiress and her human lover, where shadows, desire, and danger intertwine in a nocturnal waltz of longing and seduction.

    II. Nightfall Serenade | A Gothic Vampire Love Poem
    The second poem in the Nocturnal series — a dark, romantic serenade between a mortal woman and her vampiric lover. A haunting continuation of Nocturnal Waltz, where passion becomes devotion and the night itself listens.

    III. Nyx’s Confession | A Gothic Vampire Confessional Poem
    In Nyx’s Confession, the vampiress speaks — her love, her guilt, her impossible humanity. A confession whispered in blood and jasmine.

  • Nyx’s Confession | Gothic Vampire Love Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    🕯️ Author’s Note

    The third piece in the “Nocturnal” series, “Nyx’s Confession” peels back the veil of myth and reveals the vampiress’s heart. Here, the immortal becomes vulnerable — she kills to protect, yet aches to be loved for her humanity. It’s a poem about devotion through darkness, and how even monsters long to be seen as more than their hunger.

    A sorrowful vampiress kneels in candlelight, surrounded by jasmine, after protecting her lover.
    “Even monsters bleed for love.”

    Nyx’s Confession
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (June 9th, 2024)

    Fangs sunk in, drained him dry,
    To protect you, the diamond of my eye.
    You saw my humanity, not the monster
    I thought I was, and I love you for that.

    Fangs pierced his skin, led him to his end
    Just to keep you safe, even if it pushed you away.
    But you saw me for something more,
    Than the monster, I thought I was.

    The way you look at me,
    It makes me feel so alive,
    Like my heart still beats inside,
    But it only beats for you.

    The scent of jasmine lingered in the air,
    A silent witness to the bloodshed,
    Its sweet perfume mingling with the metallic tang of his life,
    A testament to my love, my sacrifice.

    I leave before the morning light,
    And return to you every night.
    I don’t know what it is about you,
    Got me fighting my nature just to be with you.

    In the moonlit shadows, I find solace,
    Your presence a balm to my tormented soul.
    With each nightfall, the jasmine blooms,
    Its fragrance a reminder of the humanity you see in me.

    I. Nocturnal Waltz | A Dark Romance Poem of Desire & Danger
    A fleeting, intoxicating moment between a femme-fatale vampiress and her human lover, where shadows, desire, and danger intertwine in a nocturnal waltz of longing and seduction.

    II. Nightfall Serenade | Gothic Vampire Love Poem by Rowan Evans
    The second poem in the Nocturnal series — a dark, romantic serenade between a mortal woman and her vampiric lover. A haunting continuation of Nocturnal Waltz, where passion becomes devotion and the night itself listens.

  • Nocturnal Waltz: A Dark Romance Poem of Desire & Danger

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Nocturnal Waltz captures a moment I can’t stop imagining: the instant a femme-fatale vampiress meets her human lover for the first time. It’s a collision of worlds—dangerous, intoxicating, and utterly irresistible. I wanted to write the kind of encounter where time collapses, where every glance and touch feels like a promise and a warning all at once.

    There’s something thrilling about the first spark of desire, the delicious tension between curiosity and caution. In this poem, the night becomes a character, the shadows a partner, and the music of attraction a rhythm that no one can resist.

    This is for anyone who has felt the pull of someone who is simultaneously terrifying and magnetic, for those drawn to the edge of their own desire, and for readers unafraid to let the darkness brush against their fingertips.

    — Rowan Evans

    Vampiress and human woman dancing in a moonlit gothic ballroom, shadows and romance swirling around them.
    “Nocturnal Waltz: The first, intoxicating meeting of a femme-fatale vampiress and her human lover.”

    Nocturnal Waltz
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (June 9th, 2024)

    Fangs and bat wings,
    She was a Gothic dream.
    With lips, redder
    Than the river Styx.
    She was Nyx,
    Goddess of the Night.

    Her dress, woven from shadows,
    Flowed like ink in water,
    Each step she took,
    A whisper in the darkness,
    A promise of secrets untold.

    And she was enticing,
    Had me in a trance—
    Watched her move,
    Elegant and slow,
    As she eyed everyone in the room.

    The air was thick with the scent of jasmine,
    A fragrance that clung to her like a ghostly shroud,
    Wrapping me in its intoxicating embrace,
    Binding me to her, body and soul.

    Now, her eyes,
    Fixed on me. I couldn’t even move.
    In an instant,
    She was towering overhead.
    I was shaking,
    But I was smitten to the core.

    She took me by the hand,
    And we danced—
    As everything faded from view.
    It was her and I,
    Nobody else in the room.
    And we danced—

    Her touch, a silken noose,
    Binding me in a dangerous embrace.
    Her eyes, twin pools of midnight,
    Held stories of centuries past,
    Of loves lost and battles won.

    She was gone,
    As quick as she appeared.
    She was a Gothic dream.
    With lips, redder
    Than the river Styx.
    She was Nyx,
    Goddess of the Night.

    If you have made it this far and want to check out more of my poetry, you can find it [here].