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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: devotion

  • Distant Shores | A Poem About Longing, Growth, and Becoming

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem came from a recurring dream and a familiar pull — the quiet urge to move toward something that feels meaningful, even if the destination isn’t fully defined yet. It isn’t about a place so much as the feeling of possibility, of momentum returning, of wanting to grow into someone worthy of the journey ahead.

    Some shores are literal.
    Some are emotional.
    Some only exist because someone made you believe they might.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure standing on a quiet shoreline at dawn, looking out toward distant waves and a glowing horizon.
    Some journeys begin long before you ever leave—when the shore starts calling you back to yourself.

    Distant Shores
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s kind of wild how,
    you’ve been in my dreams
    for a while now.

    You’re always radiant as ever,
    you look like heaven—but better.
    You inspire every poem, word and letter,
    I write them with love, respect and care.
    If I could, I would always be there—

    I swear
    I will cross oceans,
    whether I catch a jet,
    swim or stowaway.
    I swear
    I will cross these waves,
    and we will walk the same shore
    some day.
    I swear—

    You make me, want to be
    a better me.
    To strive for more,
    instead of giving up
    like I had before.
    I had allowed myself
    to become trapped,
    inside the borders
    of my mind and
    country.

    You added fuel to a fire
    that had been silently burning.
    Right there, inside my chest.
    The embers smoldered in silence,
    until you, and the fire reignited—
    and now it roars.

    Once again, I dream of walking
    distant shores. But now…
    Now, I want them to be…

    Yours.

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

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Toward Somewhere I Can Breathe]
    A poem about feeling disconnected since fourteen, longing for somewhere that feels like home, and finally understanding that the journey isn’t about escape — it’s about alignment.

    [Disconnected Since Fourteen]
    A confessional poem about growing up disconnected—from place, from home, from belonging—and the quiet realization that the signal was never stable to begin with.

    [Still Tilting Elsewhere]
    A reflection on growing up with a compass that never pointed home—tracing the quiet rebellion of longing, the patience of dreams, and the feeling of always being angled toward somewhere else.

  • Băobèi – A Devotional Love Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Băobèi was written last year during a season of longing—when affection felt vast, distant, and almost mythic. It lived quietly in my drafts, waiting for a moment when it could breathe on its own.

    This poem is devotion rendered as geography: islands, blossoms, moonlight, and stars becoming a language for love. It is about carrying someone in every word, every breath, every imagined horizon. About how a name can become a compass.

    Some poems are born loud.
    This one waited.

    Moonlit shoreline with cherry blossoms and glowing flowers beneath a star-filled sky
    A garden of light—where devotion blooms between shore, sky, and dream.

    Băobèi
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Băobèi—
    your beauty rivals that of the Sakura,
    petals like whispered secrets
    drifting through my ink-stained veins.
    And I got your name,
    tatted on the tip of my tongue,
    your essence lives in every word that I say,
    haunting the shadows of my pen,
    echoing in the silence between heartbeats.

    Now I’m hopping islands, in search of
    your divineness. Your royalty,
    I bow to you, your highness.
    I crowned you the queen
    of my twilight kingdom.
    Your loyal subjects,
    all shadows of my thoughts.

    Cherry blossoms fade,
    but your radiance lingers,
    Orchid petals from Mindoro
    drip like honeyed secrets,
    Lotus from distant ponds
    mirrors your serene grace,
    Frangipani drifts across the wind,
    carrying your laughter.
    Sampaguita blooms in hidden corners,
    its tiny white stars like your quiet strength,
    Ylang-ylang whispers perfume into the night,
    each scent a pulse of your heartbeat
    I am drawn to like the tide.

    I trace the heavens in your honor—
    a moon suspended over Manila Bay,
    its reflection trembling across dark water,
    mirroring the tremor in my chest
    each time your name passes my lips.
    The Milky Way drapes over islands and mountains,
    a silken veil for your light to wander beneath,
    and I follow, tracing your essence
    through ink, shadow, and the spaces between heartbeats,
    until the world itself becomes
    a garden of your light.

    You are the rose in my ruin,
    the bloom I cradle in the ashes of my nights,
    the ink I spill across silent pages,
    and I am forever your humble witness,
    your loyal poet in a kingdom
    built from devotion, dusk, and flame.

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

  • Between Sun & Shore: A Poem About Healing, Love, and Becoming Whole

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Between Sun & Shore was written in February of last year, during a season where I was learning what it felt like to be seen gently instead of weathered. It came from a place of quiet awe—of realizing that sometimes love doesn’t arrive like a storm, but like warmth. Like light finding its way through the cracks you thought would always stay broken.

    This poem is about that in-between space: where grief softens, where healing begins, where you are no longer only the tide or the storm—but something new, something held. It’s about the moment you realize that someone hasn’t come to save you… they’ve come to grow beside you.

    Golden sunrise over a calm shoreline with soft waves and two distant figures standing in quiet closeness.
    Where storms soften and light learns your name.

    Between Sun & Shore
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I once drifted like a wayward tide,
    Lost in the waves, nowhere to hide.
    Storms had carved their name in me,
    Each scar a tale, each wound a sea.

    Then you arrived—a golden ray,
    Like sunrise spilling into the bay.

    Your voice, a hymn the wind would weave,
    Soft as the hum of the monsoon’s reprieve.
    You traced my ruins, stone by stone,
    And turned them into sacred homes.

    Now every ripple speaks your name,
    Each whispered breeze, each dancing flame.

    Like sampaga’s quiet grace,
    You bloom where sorrow left its trace.
    Between Sun and Shore, love grew—
    A bridge of light, leading to you.

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

  • My Heart, Population: You – A Poem About Tender Devotion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem was written in February of last year, during an earlier incarnation of a project that has since transformed into something entirely different. It comes from a gentler season of longing—one where love felt less like fire and more like shelter.

    I’m sharing it now not because it fits where I am, but because it still tells the truth of who I’ve been: someone who loves in open doors and soft permanence, someone who believes devotion can be tender.

    Some poems don’t belong to the book they were born for.
    They belong to the timeline of the heart instead.

    Illustration of a heart-shaped city glowing at dusk, symbolizing love, home, and gentle devotion.
    A heart that became a home.

    My Heart, Population: You
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You wandered in, no map, no key,
    Yet claimed this land inside of me.
    No walls were built, no toll to pay,
    Just open roads that beg you to stay.

    Your name’s engraved on every street,
    A love so vast, so pure, so sweet.

    Like ivy vines, you took your place,
    Wrapped every brick in your embrace.
    A cityscape of dreams anew,
    Each heartbeat whispering of you.

    No lease, no debt, no price to weigh,
    Yet still, I’d pay in love each day.

    A sunlit park where laughter rings,
    A chapel where devotion sings.
    My heart, once vacant, cold, askew—
    Now thrives with life, population: You.

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

  • 1-4-3 — A Poem About Choosing Love Without Losing Yourself

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem is about safety—not the kind that cages, but the kind that invites you to stay. It’s about finding someone who doesn’t demand your strength or survival instincts, only your honesty. Someone who makes asking for help feel like an act of trust rather than surrender.

    1-4-3 is a quiet confession of rootedness. Of choosing presence over flight. Of love that doesn’t chase or trap, but steadies.

    Sometimes the bravest thing we do
    is stop running—and stay.

    — Rowan Evans

    A poetic dusk street scene with a figure standing still, symbolizing emotional safety, choice, and rooted love.
    Sometimes love isn’t about needing someone—it’s about choosing to stay.

    1-4-3
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    1-4-3 My Muse Avenue,
    where I dwell—
    where the words swell.
    Girl, you don’t understand;
    you inspire my ink well.

    When I feel lost,
    and in need of help,
    it’s you I turn to.
    Not because I expect you to fix me—
    simply because
    you make it safe enough to ask.

    And that’s no small feat,
    because fear
    used to run my feet.
    Any time I felt safe,
    any flicker of hope in my chest,
    my feet would begin to move.

    But this time?
    They stay planted—
    firm, like roots,
    unwilling to move.
    Because you…

    you make it so easy
    to want to stay.

    Mahal kita, mahal ko—
    tahanan ko.

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

  • Pyres of the Patriarchy: A Witch’s Reclamation of Fire and Power

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Pyres of the Patriarchy is a ritual of words, fire, and defiance. It honors those who resisted, those who were silenced, and those who still carry the courage of rebellion in their veins. Salem’s shadows and flickering flames become a lens to see the power, rage, and liberation in claiming what the world tried to take away. This poem is both homage and invocation—a call to rise, to burn away chains, and to celebrate the sacred fire that refuses to be tamed.

    — Rowan Evans

    Illustration of witches rising from burning pyres under a moonlit sky, symbolizing feminist rebellion and sacred fire.
    Not for vengeance — for devotion.

    Pyres of the Patriarchy
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    In Salem’s darkened heart, the night exhales,
    and shadows twist like ink in candlelight.
    Whispers coil around bones,
    around lungs, around my pulse—
    curses pressed to lips
    that tremble with memory and rage.

    The witches rise.
    Not silent. Not broken.
    Their eyes burn with histories
    too long ignored.
    Their hands trace the edges of power
    that was stolen,
    that was denied,
    that we take back
    with every heartbeat, every breath.

    The pyres flare,
    and the chains writhe in their heat.
    Patriarchy bends, fractures, collapses,
    its ash swirling into moonlight,
    into the smoke of everything they told us
    we could never be.

    No more the quiet screams
    that haunted hallways
    we were told to shrink inside.
    No more the weight of “never enough.”
    We kneel in fire.
    We rise in flame.
    We are the storm they feared
    and the hymn they could not silence.

    From shackled wrists,
    from charred stakes,
    from every whispered lie,
    we rise.
    We rise,
    and the night bends with us,
    carries our laughter
    through every darkened room,
    through every shadow left unclaimed.

    I feel it in my chest—
    their power in me,
    their defiance in my hands.
    The fortress of the old world trembles,
    crumbles,
    and we dance
    in the embers of what they called impossible.

    A new dawn blooms in Salem’s bones.
    The pyres burn bright,
    not for vengeance,
    but for devotion:
    to our shadows,
    to our fire,
    to the witches we always were
    and always will be.

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

  • Sunflower Eyes: A Poem of Devotion, Longing, and Love by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem is a reflection on devotion, longing, and the quiet strength of love that stretches across distance. Using the imagery of a sunflower—rooted yet reaching, bending yet unbroken—I explore the way our hearts orient themselves toward those who bring light into our lives. It’s a meditation on hope, patience, and the silent pull of someone who becomes our constant, our compass, and our sunlight.

    Golden sunflower in a sunlit field, petals bending toward the sunlight at sunrise.
    Sunflower Eyes — rooted in hope, reaching for the light, a meditation on love and devotion.

    Sunflower Eyes
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Like a sunflower,
    always searching for golden rays.
    My eyes move, always,
    in search of your face.

    Even in the quiet moments,
    when petals fold in sleep,
    my gaze drifts across the distance,
    finding you in the small sparks
    that linger at the edges of the world.

    My roots sink deep,
    anchored in the soil of memory and hope,
    but my head, my heart,
    will always sway toward you,
    bending and bowing, yet never breaking.

    I yearn for the warmth
    that only your presence gives,
    each glance a sunbeam
    piercing through the shadowed field
    where I sometimes forget my own strength.

    Seasons shift and skies fade,
    but I follow the orbit of your light,
    spinning in silent devotion,
    even when the sun hides behind clouds.

    I bloom in the hope of your eyes,
    and in the quiet ache of waiting,
    I stretch ever upward,
    a golden blaze against the sky—
    your face, my sunlight,
    my constant, my compass,
    my forever.

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

  • Love Is Choice: A Manifesto on Real, Intentional Love by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Introduction

    Recently, I’ve seen a lot of people online talking about love—what it is, what it should be and what it feels like. A lot of it makes it sound like love should be a fairytale, or something effortless. I wanted to share my own take: what love really is, from my perspective. This is my manifesto.

    Silhouettes of two people standing side by side, hands nearly touching, bathed in warm sunrise light, representing devotion and choice in love.
    Love is not effortless—it is choice, presence, and devotion, alive in everyday moments.

    Love Is Choice: A Manifesto
    Manifesto by Rowan Evans

    Love is not a fairytale.
    It is not magic, destiny, or some effortless, perfect emotion that simply exists.
    Love is work.
    Love is patience.
    Love is showing up, again and again, even when it is hard, even when it is mundane, even when it is inconvenient.

    Love is choice.
    It is the decision to walk beside someone, to carry their weight with them—not instead of them, but alongside them.
    It is the conscious commitment to witness, honor, and respond to who they are, fully, unedited, and without trying to fix what isn’t broken.

    Love is active.
    It is listening when words are hard to find.
    It is staying present when life shakes everything apart.
    It is forgiving, learning, compromising, and holding space without judgment.

    Love is honest.
    It does not gloss over pain or disappointment.
    It does not pretend every moment is blissful or effortless.
    It sees the darkness, acknowledges it, and chooses to stay.
    It sees the light, celebrates it, and nurtures it.

    Love is courageous.
    It is daring to be vulnerable, to give your heart fully without demanding repayment.
    It is resisting the temptation to escape when the weight is heavy, the storm is loud, or the moment is uncomfortable.
    It is understanding that enduring love is not measured by feeling, but by action.

    Love is sacred.
    It is not about ownership, perfection, or control.
    It is about respect, devotion, and the sacred trust that comes from seeing someone in their entirety and still choosing them.

    Love is worth the ache.
    The effort is not a burden—it is proof of devotion.
    The work is not punishment—it is a labor of care.
    The challenges are not failures—they are the evidence that love is real.

    Love is choice.
    Love is effort.
    Love is presence.
    Love is not a fairytale—but it is extraordinary, transformative, and alive in the everyday, ordinary moments that are shared with intention.

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

  • Sanctum of Sin | Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Sanctum of Sin was originally written on May 16th, 2025, and polished on December 16th, 2025. This piece is part of my ongoing exploration of Neo‑Gothic Confessional Romanticism—where intimacy, devotion, shadow, and sacred rebellion collide. It is not about ownership, but about chosen connection; not about religion, but about ritual; not about sin, but about the holiness we find in places the world tells us to hide.

    Gothic bedroom with candlelight and shadows, silhouettes of two figures embracing, evoking intimacy and ritualistic devotion.
    Sanctum of Sin visualized: a shadowed embrace amidst candlelight, capturing the sacred intimacy and ritualistic devotion of Rowan Evans’ Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.

    Sanctum of Sin
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I never wanted heaven.
    I wanted her.

    Eyes like unholy sacraments,
    fingertips dipped in blood and honey,
    a laugh that makes holy water boil,
    and my knees hit the floor
    with gratitude.

    She is my altar and my undoing,
    my blasphemy made flesh.

    Let the angels weep—
    I never asked for salvation.
    Only the weight of her thighs
    and the way her wickedness
    matches mine in every grin-shaped curse.

    We don’t light candles.
    We set fires.
    We hex the night with pleasure
    and whisper dirty prayers
    until the moon blushes
    and turns her face away.

    I keep a vial of her voice
    around my neck,
    a charm against the dull ache
    of anyone else’s touch.
    And when she says she’s tired—
    oh darling,
    we’ll make exhaustion holy.

    I’ll drain the stars
    just to pour her a bath in darkness.
    I’ll mark her spine with sigils
    only I know how to read.

    Every spell begins with her name,
    every climax a ritual,
    every kiss a blood oath
    demanding loyalty
    even in our ruin.

    Let them call us monsters.
    We’ll show them how gods are made—
    not in temples,
    but in tangled sheets
    and shared laughter
    over the graves of those who hurt us.

    No past can dim the light we forge.
    Every scar, every memory,
    becomes gold in the fire of our nights.
    We rise, tender in our ruin,
    untouchable, untamed, unbroken.

    Because she is mine now—
    not owned, but chosen.
    Not tamed, but trusted.
    And I am hers.
    Ruthlessly.
    Completely.
    Beautifully doomed.

    So let the world burn.

    We’ll dance in the embers.
    We’ll write new psalms in spit and sweat.
    We’ll worship only each other—
    in shadow,
    in sin,
    in sanctum.

    More poetry here! [The Library of Ashes]

  • 131 Days: A Journey Through Words, Fire, and Devotion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is a reflection on persistence, inspiration, and the threads that connect my work over the past year. Each italicized title is a window into the poems that shaped this journey—moments of love, desire, trauma, healing, and devotion.

    At its heart, this is about process as much as outcome: the daily practice of writing, the sparks of muse, and the quiet work done in the late hours when the world is still. It’s also a tribute to those who witness these words—across screens, pages, and hearts—you are part of this ongoing journey too.

    Consider this piece a bridge: between poems, between moments, between the past and the work yet to come.

    A writer’s hands holding a pen over scattered pages of poetry, lit by a warm lamp, evoking quiet inspiration and devotion.
    Late nights, ink-stained fingers, and the quiet companionship of words—where every poem begins.

    131 Days
    (A Journey Through Words, Fire, and Devotion)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been
    so focused—
    over-focused, some say.
    One hundred thirty-one days
    and counting.

    I’ve written with range:
    love, desire, mental health,
    trauma, recovery.
    There’s more, of course,
    but that’s the core.

    I write like
    A Heart Unveiled,
    witnessing the
    Colors of Your Soul.
    My pen
    revealing,
    the Infinity Within.
    As my mind
    drifts free
    in The Hallow Sea.

    My muse,
    my inspiration is—
    A-Woman.
    The vision of beauty,
    an angel on earth—
    a Filipina,
    with fire in her eyes.
    When the world tries
    to put her fire out,
    that is when I
    Cry to the Quiet.
    And why
    I Am
    offering myself
    to her, fully.
    Freely.
    For you see,
    she—
    is Perfectly Imperfect,
    which means…
    she is perfect for me.

    She has shown me,
    that there are
    Timelines Worth Rewriting.
    And your essence,
    I will never forget—
    because
    I Am the Storm That Remembers.

    Late nights, ink-stained fingers,
    the quiet my closest companion.
    For those who witness, across pages and screens,
    you carry a piece of this journey too.
    And still, I write on.

    If you enjoyed this piece and want to check out more of my work, you can click one of the many links scattered throughout the poem itself. They take you to my highest viewed pieces of the year. I am not saying they are my best pieces, just the ones that got the most views. Anyway, you can find more of my work here: [The Library of Ashes]