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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: destiny

  • Caller ID: Destiny | A Poem About Dreams, Belonging, and Finding Home

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some dreams stay with me because of what happens in them.

    Others stay because of how they make me feel after I wake up.

    This poem belongs to the second kind.

    Lately, I’ve found myself dreaming about places I’ve never lived but somehow recognize. Cities that feel familiar before I arrive. Streets that carry a strange sense of belonging. When I wake, there’s often a brief moment where those places feel more like home than the room I’m actually in.

    That feeling became the heart of this piece.

    The image of a phone call arrived almost immediately. Not as a literal phone, but as the unmistakable sensation that something beyond my current life keeps trying to get my attention. The title came from asking myself what that call would look like if it appeared on a screen.

    Caller ID: Destiny.

    The final stanza is probably the most honest part of the poem.

    It’s not really about wanting to sleep.

    It’s about wanting to wake up somewhere that feels like I’m finally living the life I’ve been moving toward for years.

    Sometimes dreams aren’t an escape from reality.

    Sometimes they’re reminders that another future still feels possible.

    — Rowan Evans

    A person standing alone on a quiet street at dawn holding a glowing phone that reads "Caller ID: Destiny," while a luminous dreamlike city shines in the distance.
    Sometimes the loudest call doesn’t come from a phone—it comes from the life waiting for you beyond the horizon.

    Caller ID: Destiny
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    As the haze of sleep
    finally leaves,
    I find myself missing
    the dreams.

    In my sleep
    I walk the streets
    in the places
    that are calling me.

    It’s like my phone is ringing
    off the hook—

    caller id reads:
    Destiny.

    Message received:
    “Time to leave.”

    I’m done begging
    where I’m from—
    to notice me.

    I feel seen
    in my dreams,
    and invisible
    in my streets.

    So I’d rather sleep
    than be awake
    in this state.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Crossing the Sea (No Metaphor Left Behind)]
    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.

    [Only Waiting (No Metaphor Left Behind)]
    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.

    [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.

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

  • Lone Wolf Theology | A Poem About Freedom, Identity & Self-Authorship

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece started as a joke.

    Or at least, it started with the energy of one.

    I was playing with the idea of a character moving through different fictional universes and refusing every invitation offered to them. No Justice League. No Avengers. No X-Men. No Jedi Order. No chosen destiny. No sacred prophecy.

    Just refusal.

    But as I kept writing, something else emerged.

    The more references I added, the less the poem became about superheroes and the more it became about autonomy.

    Because beneath every fictional universe is usually the same question:

    Who decides who you are?

    A team? A title? A destiny? A prophecy? A god? A system?

    Or you?

    That’s where the title comes from.

    “Lone Wolf Theology” isn’t really about isolation. It’s about self-authorship.

    Not the rejection of connection, but the rejection of surrendering your identity to something external. The refusal to let institutions, expectations, labels, or inherited narratives become the sole authority over your life.

    The superheroes, anti-heroes, and mythic references serve as modern archetypes here. They represent power, belonging, destiny, responsibility, faith, rebellion, and purpose. The speaker moves through those worlds, not because they reject what those symbols represent, but because they refuse to let any one of them define them completely.

    At its core, this piece is about choosing your own path.

    Not because it is easier.

    Not because it guarantees success.

    But because there is something sacred about deciding for yourself who you will become.

    And perhaps that is the real theology hidden beneath all the comic books, capes, and cosmic references:

    Freedom is a practice.

    A choice made repeatedly.

    A vow renewed every time the world tries to tell you who you should be.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure standing on a cliff beneath a star-filled sky surrounded by symbols of mythology, destiny, and freedom.
    No prophecy. No chosen order. No inherited destiny. Only the road ahead and the freedom to decide who you become.

    Lone Wolf Theology
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m a lone wolf, anti‑hero—
    Punisher psychology,
    Frank Castle reality,
    and Deadpool’s mentality.

    Yeah, that’s the fucking recipe.

    Fuck the League (Justice!)
    I don’t need no team,
    there are no Avengers around me.

    I am the evolution of man,
    no X‑Gene. No X team
    in this rhyme scheme.

    I don’t need a Bat‑Signal,
    I light up my own sky.
    Tell Stark I don’t need a suit—
    I’m built different, that’s why.

    Tell Logan I don’t need claws,
    I cut deep with my words.
    Tell Thor I don’t need hammers
    to make thunder heard.

    Fantastic Four?
    I’m fantastic solo.
    Guardians of the Galaxy?
    I guard galaxies dolo.

    Teen Titans?
    I’ve been grown since birth.
    Suicide Squad?
    I don’t need a squad to put you in the dirt.

    Lantern Corps?
    I don’t need a ring to shine.
    I’m the willpower,
    the fear,
    the rage—
    all combined.

    I don’t run with the Speed Force,
    I outrun it.
    Flash chasin’ lightning—
    I become it.

    No timeline can hold me,
    no paradox breaks me.
    Barry hit the wall of time—
    I run through it.

    Spider‑Verse?
    I don’t need a web to connect.
    I cut every thread
    and still command respect.

    Tell Parker I don’t need
    “great power” speeches.
    Tell Miles I don’t need
    a leap of faith to reach this.

    Venom? Carnage?
    I don’t fear their spawn.
    Symbiotes whisper to hosts—
    to me, they speak in song.

    I wear darkness like armor,
    I don’t need it to cling.
    I’m the wolf in the shadows—
    they’re just wearing the skin.

    And the Jedi Order?
    Please.
    I don’t need a council
    to tell me what peace is.

    I don’t need a saber
    to carve out my path.
    I don’t need the Force—
    I am the aftermath.

    No light side.
    No dark side.
    Just my side.
    My creed.
    My theology.

    The lone wolf
    doesn’t join orders—
    he creates one
    by being free.

    In the end,
    there is no order to join,
    no destiny to inherit,
    no prophecy to fulfill.

    There is only the road,
    the breath,
    the choice to rise
    when no one is watching.

    Freedom is not a gift—
    it is a vow whispered in the dark.
    And I keep it.
    Always.

    So write this
    in the margins of every myth:
    I owe nothing to the crowns of men
    or the councils of gods.

    I walk the line between fate and defiance,
    and I do not break—
    I bend the world around me.

    If destiny comes calling,
    tell it to knock louder.
    I don’t follow prophecy.
    I make it bleed
    until it follows me.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [L Words & Heart]
    A playful, self-aware poem about love, longing, loyalty, and the quiet ways another person can reshape our inner world. What begins as humor slowly reveals a heartfelt confession about affection, imagination, and the faces that linger in our dreams.

    [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.

    [Twin Suns, Sister Moons]
    A poem about distance, longing, and the quiet pull of someone who lives beneath a different sky. Between twin suns and sister moons, the heart keeps reaching for home.

    [It’s You I Choose]
    A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.

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

  • Just Beyond Waking | A Poem About Dreams, Destiny, and Future Love

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece came from the feeling of recognizing something before you fully understand it.

    Not memory exactly.
    Not déjà vu.
    Something softer and stranger than that.

    I’ve always been fascinated by those moments where emotion arrives before explanation—when a place, a person, or a feeling seems deeply familiar even though you know you’ve never truly experienced it before. Like your mind is brushing against a future version of your life before you’ve physically reached it.

    That became the emotional center of this poem.

    The shifting between bedroom and street, dream and waking, reality and unreality, was meant to feel unstable on purpose. I wanted the speaker to exist in that liminal space where certainty dissolves and longing becomes vivid enough to feel almost tangible.

    Humidity became important while writing too. It creates this physical heaviness throughout the piece—something atmospheric and emotional at the same time. The world feels thick with anticipation, almost electrically alive, as if reality itself is trying to push through the veil separating possibility from arrival.

    And then there’s the ending.

    What mattered to me most was that the final realization isn’t framed as destiny in some grand cosmic sense. It’s quieter than that. More human.

    Not:
    “I remembered her.”

    But:
    “I’m becoming someone capable of reaching that life.”

    That distinction changes everything.

    Because the poem ultimately isn’t about escaping reality.

    It’s about slowly awakening into a future version of yourself that already exists somewhere just beyond fear, distance, uncertainty, and waiting.

    And sometimes the first glimpse of that future arrives like a dream before it arrives like a life.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure stands on a humid city street as a woman emerges through a dreamlike haze of light and atmosphere.
    Some futures arrive first as dreams, waiting quietly just beyond waking.

    Just Beyond Waking
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I stood on an unfamiliar street,
    feeling unfamiliar heat—
    skin sweat‑slick.
    I was lost in thought,
    stuck in that spot.
    The air around me buzzed,
    electric with the hum
    of life moving past.

    I’ve felt this before—
    but was it
    dream or memory?
    I don’t know.
    Can’t be sure
    anymore.

    Vision shifts as I drift,
    street fading into bedroom walls.
    The bustling street’s noise—
    just music in my headphones.
    Blink and I’m back again,
    don’t know what to think,
    don’t know what’s happening.

    Back on that unfamiliar street,
    I feel the pull creep—
    so I begin to move my feet,
    one step and then another,
    one foot and then the other.

    Reality is shifting,
    I’m losing grip—
    I’m slipping.
    Don’t know what’s the dream,
    and what’s me
    awakening.

    I trip and stumble,
    almost tumble into the street—
    catch myself at the last second,
    clutching the wall
    as if I might drift away.

    Then I hear it.
    A sound, an echo—
    a voice piercing the silence.
    Eyes scan the room
    as humidity creeps
    across my skin.

    I struggle
    to pull in a breath,
    and again
    the sounds of the city
    surround me.
    Again I’m back
    on that same street—

    but I’m no longer alone.

    As my eyes focus,
    slowly she comes into view.
    A gentle smile
    spreads across her lips—
    a soft touch on my arm,
    a line traced by her fingertips.

    The city hums around us,
    alive, waiting.
    And something in her silence
    steadies the world—
    not familiar,
    but right.
    Not remembered,
    but meant.

    And in that moment
    I understand—
    this isn’t memory,
    isn’t dream,
    but the first soft glimpse
    of a life
    I’m still walking toward,
    waiting for me
    just beyond waking.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Twin Suns, Sister Moons]
    A poem about distance, longing, and the quiet pull of someone who lives beneath a different sky. Between twin suns and sister moons, the heart keeps reaching for home.

    [It’s You I Choose]
    A poem about devotion, vulnerability, and the quiet decision to stay. Sometimes love isn’t certainty—it is choosing someone anyway.

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