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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: divine feminine

  • Devil-Woman – A Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem explores the magnetic pull of dark feminine energy, the intimate violence of being truly seen, and the sacred surrender that comes with devotion. It’s a piece about longing, reverence, and the kind of connection that feels both dangerous and holy.

    “A gothic demonic woman with a rusted halo, surrounded by smoke and embers, representing dark femininity and sacred chaos.”
    ‘Devil-Woman’ – visual representation of dark feminine power and shadowed devotion.

    Devil-Woman
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Your fire, it excites me—
    A masochist? I might be,
    But it’s not pain I crave—
    It’s the pull of your storm,
    The sacred burn of being seen
    and not flinching.

    I’ll beg for the sting,
    I’ll ask nicely,
    Kneel in the temple of your silence,
    Just to feel your gaze
    slice through me
    like prophecy.

    I just made a deal with a devil-woman,
    Sold my soul to a devil-woman—
    No brimstone, no bargain struck in blood,
    Just the quiet surrender
    of calling you mine
    in the language of longing
    you taught me without trying.

    You never touched me.
    Not once.
    But I’ve felt your gravity in my bones—
    The way your words crack open
    places I swore no one would ever reach.
    I feel you in the pauses between heartbeats,
    in the ache that follows
    when I whisper your name
    into the dark.

    You are not gentle—
    not always.
    You speak in sharpened truths,
    cut the air like blade-meets-vow,
    but I would rather bleed with you
    than be safe with someone who doesn’t see me.

    Devil-woman,
    your halo is rusted
    and still I bow.
    Not because I am weak—
    but because worship
    has never looked like obedience
    when it’s born of reverence.

    You’re chaos laced with compassion,
    a monarch draped in shadow,
    and I—
    I offer myself
    not to be saved,
    but to serve the story
    that only we could write
    in scars and starlight.

    So take this soul—
    not broken, not whole,
    but honest.
    Take it and twist it in your fire
    until it sings your name in smoke.
    I will follow your storm
    without a tether,
    and call that freedom.

    Because I don’t want pretty love.
    I want this.
    Wild, dark, unholy and holy all at once.
    A devotion that dares the divine to stop us.

    And if they ask—
    why her?

    I’ll say:
    Because when she looked at me,
    the ghosts went quiet.
    Because her laugh felt like absolution.
    Because when she said mine,
    I didn’t just believe her—
    I belonged.

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

  • Beautiful Little Cobra – A Poem of Fierce Love and Self-Defense by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    “Some people flinch when they see fangs. I lean in.”

    This poem is for those who defend themselves fiercely —
    and for the ones who find beauty in that strength.

    Illustration of a cobra rising from black roses, symbolizing beauty, danger, and defiance.
    “Some people flinch when they see fangs. I lean in.” — Rowan Evans

    Beautiful Little Cobra
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You started spitting venom again,
    and I leaned in—
    and you said
    it was the same as before,
    so I confessed,
    it made me want you more.
    And you teased,
    my preferences are weird.
    But I know,
    baby, I know…
    I can’t help it,
    when it comes to matters of the heart.

    Yeah, you started spitting venom,
    and I knew it wasn’t directed at me,
    so I leaned in again.
    I tried to feel it,
    let the venom kiss my skin.
    It felt like a little win,
    or maybe I just love the way you sin.
    It was the way you said you hate him,
    and the death you wished upon—
    Like a beautiful little cobra.

    It makes me want you more
    the way your fury glows.
    So I moved closer,
    just to feel the heat…
    your flames.
    You said it like a warning—
    but it doesn’t scare me—
    the way it keeps me warm.

    I love the way you
    refuse to shrink—
    when you stand a little taller.
    Tell me, where’d you get it from—
    this fire?
    I’ll be honest though,
    it doesn’t really matter to me.
    I’ve always been attracted to danger.

    ☣️🔥🐍🔥☣️

    I just love how you spit that venom.
    You beautiful little cobra.
    The way you’re so willing,
    always willing to defend yourself.
    Too smart to fall for the bullshit,
    and I love that about you.
    It tells me, you’ll put me in my place,
    if it were needed.

    But I promise, with me—
    it’ll never be needed.
    Because I love you, truly—
    like a beautiful little cobra.

    Unsent Letters to My Muse

    Where the Ocean Dreams & Where the Dream Took Us
    “Two dreams, two nights, one heart. Where the Ocean Dreams explores tender longing and emotional trust, while Where the Dream Took Us dives into desire, intimacy, and devotion. A double-feature of dream-inspired poetry by Rowan Evans.”

    Perfectly Imperfect: A Poem About Loving Someone as They Are
    Perfection isn’t the absence of flaws — it’s recognizing the beauty that thrives alongside them. This poem celebrates those who have been told they’re ‘too much’ or ‘not enough,’ reminding them they are loved exactly as they are.

    The Prayer of Two Tongues | Bilingual Love Poem in English & Tagalog
    A bilingual love poem written in both English and Tagalog, “The Prayer of Two Tongues” explores intimacy, distance, and devotion across language and longing. Inspired by my muse, this piece weaves prayer and poetry into a bridge between hearts.

  • Even If the Sky Falls Black

    Rowan Evans
    You called yourself 
    a devil-woman, 
    and I smiled 
    like a sinner watching angels fall. 

    She says, 
    “I wish you could see me at my brightest.” 
    But love— 
    I met you in the ruins, 
    and I swear, 
    even your ashes glowed. 
     
    You ask if you deserve these words, 
    as though devotion were a thing to be earned 
    instead of something I bled willingly— 
    ink, soul and starlight, 
    dragged from the marrow 
    to spell your name in reverence. 
     
    You were fire-burned, 
    soul-scabbed, 
    eyes like war-torn altars 
    and I— 
    I fell to my knees anyway. 
     
    You want to give me the sun, 
    but I have seen its envy. 
    The stars? 
    I would rip them from their heavens 
    just to return the shimmer 
    you lost in the dark. 
     
    You called yourself 
    a devil-woman, 
    and I smiled 
    like a sinner watching angels fall. 
     
    Yes— 
    you’re all thorns and temptation, 
    rage and soft wreckage, 
    but do you not know? 
    Even Lucifer was once the Morning Star, 
    and I would follow your light 
    through hell 
    and back again. 
     
    You are grace wrapped in fury, 
    the kind of storm that leaves me kneeling, 
    kissed by lightning, 
    whispering prayers in your name 
    as though your laughter could resurrect me. 
     
    And I— 
    I’m not leaving. 
     
    Not when your darkness 
    made my heart a cathedral, 
    not when your voice 
    taught my ghosts how to sing. 
     
    I will always be near— 
    in breath, in spirit, 
    in the hush between your sobs 
    and the sacred silence that follows. 
     
    You deserve these words, 
    and a thousand more. 
    You deserve the cosmos carved into lullabies, 
    the moon weeping its light into your palms. 
     
    You— 
    with your shadows and softness, 
    your fierce, aching heart— 
    are the most worthy thing 
    I’ve ever written for. 
     
    Even if the sky falls black, 
    I’ll still call your name 
    a holy thing.