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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: emotional strength

  • Love Over Apathy — A Gothic Liturgy of Resilience and Fire | Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This is no gentle hymn but a sacred scream—an unholy benediction cast in fire and shadow. Here, love is not soft, but a cathedral wrought from ruins, a flame that scorches the cold altar of indifference.

    For those who walk the catacombs of their own hearts, battered but unbowed, this is your liturgy—an offering in blood and breath. May these words be your armor and your rebellion, a fierce pulse beneath fractured skin.

    — Rowan Evans

    Gothic cathedral ruins glowing with fiery embers under a moonlit sky, symbolizing resilience and sacred defiance.
    The sacred flame of resilience flickers within the ruins — a testament to love’s power over apathy.

    Invocation

    Hearken, O hearts aflame, to this sacred summoning—
    We gather here in twilight’s hush, where shadows kindle light.
    This is no prayer for softness, nor for ease’s false embrace,
    But a liturgy of fire, a hymn of relentless grace.

    In the cathedral of ruin, where broken souls convene,
    We offer up our fractured vows—
    Love over apathy, a defiant flame in the void.

    Love Over Apathy
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Not surrender, but sacrament—
    love is the blood I spill in silent worship,
    a flame lit in the catacombs of my chest,
    unchained from the cold altar of indifference.

    This world offers frost,
    an unholy shroud that seeks to still the heart,
    but I am the wildfire beneath the ashes,
    a hymn in the ruins of despair.

    Love over apathy—
    not a whispered prayer, but a sacred scream,
    a tempest rising from charred bones,
    a cathedral built from the fragments of broken souls.

    To feel is to bleed—
    to wear wounds like holy relics,
    open and raw beneath the moon’s pale gaze,
    unyielding in the face of silent death.

    When the darkness chants for silence,
    to bury the fire beneath stone and shadow,
    I raise my voice—an ancient bell tolling,
    a vow scorched into the night’s cold skin.

    Love over apathy—
    the sacred rebellion,
    the bleeding truth,
    the vow to burn
    when all else turns to dust.

    I am the pyre and the prayer,
    the shadow that dances in the flicker,
    a soul unbowed, unbroken—
    the flame that never dies.

    Benediction

    So rise, wild flame, from ashes deep,
    Burn with a fury the cold cannot keep.
    In this covenant of scorched devotion,
    We are the pyre and the ocean—
    Love over apathy, our eternal potion.

    Let the darkness roar, let the silence seethe,
    We stand unbroken—
    The faithful of fire, the fierce beneath.

    For those who wander deeper into the shadows and light of my words,
    explore the full archive of poems here.
    Each piece is a shard of my soul—wild, raw, and unyielding.

  • You’re Not Alone | Rowan Evans — A Poetic Promise of Hope & Support

    Rowan Evans

    🌒 Invocation
    For the Wounded and Weary

    Come, you who ache quietly,
    you who carry grief like a second skin.
    Enter this space —
    not to be fixed,
    but to be witnessed.
    This is not a cure,
    but a candle.
    Let it flicker for you.

    Pastel sunrise breaking through grey clouds over a misty landscape, symbolizing hope and solace.
    Hope shines brightest through the darkest clouds — ‘You’re Not Alone,’ a poem by Rowan Evans.

    You’re Not Alone
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    In the pastel shades of a world painted grey,
    I see you standing, lost, in the fray.
    When the weight of your sorrow feels too much to bear,
    Know I’m here with you, always, I swear.

    Through the storms that rage, the endless rain,
    When your heart feels heavy, suffocated by pain,
    I’ll be your shelter, your place to rest,
    When you feel you’ve given all, I’ll give my best.

    You’re not alone in this shadowed night,
    Together we’ll chase away the fear, ignite the light.
    For every tear that falls, I’ll catch it in my hand,
    And plant a seed of hope where despair used to stand.

    When the world feels too sharp, too jagged to touch,
    And even breathing feels like asking too much,
    Know that I’m here, a whisper, a friend,
    A quiet presence with an ear to lend.

    I’ll shoulder your pain, take some of the load,
    Walk beside you on this harrowing road.
    When the clouds seem too thick and the sun’s lost its glow,
    Remember my voice, my promise: you’re not alone.

    In the darkest hours when your soul feels small,
    I’ll be in your corner, catch you when you fall.
    For even when you feel you’re at the end of your fight,
    I’ll be the flame that rekindles your light.

    So, lean on me, friend, and trust in this bond,
    We’ll walk through the rain, from dusk until dawn.
    Together, we’ll face whatever may come,
    You’re not alone—you’re never on your own.

    🌓 Benediction
    For the Ones Still Holding On

    Go now with the knowing:
    You are not too much.
    You are not too broken.
    You are not alone.
    And even when your hands shake,
    you are still worthy of being held.
    Let the poem walk with you awhile.

    Read Next (Suggestions)

    [Tip the Chair] — Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem
    [The Gospel According to the Girl in the Graveyard Dress] — Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem
    [The Hopeless Romantic Wears Armor] — Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism Poem
    [Luminescence &  Shadow: A Forbidden Litany] — A Neo-Gothic Confessional Narrative Poem
    [A-Woman (Confessional at the Altar of Her)] — A Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism Poem

    Or explore the full archive in [The Library of Ashes]—and if your own confession aches to be written, [commission a custom poem here].

    NGCR25 at checkout to get 25% off your ‘request’…

  • The Hopeless Romantic Wears Armor | Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem is a tribute to the fierce resilience of love—the kind that’s messy, painful, and profoundly real. It honors the hopeless romantics who bear their scars like armor, who choose presence over perfection, and who dare to keep their hearts bare in a world that often demands they harden. This is for anyone who has ever loved with trembling hands and steady hope.

    A lone figure stands in a storm wearing armor made of roses and ink-stained paper, with a glowing heart visible beneath.
    The Hopeless Romantic Wears Armor — a poetic embrace of love’s enduring presence beneath vulnerability.

    The Hopeless Romantic Wears Armor
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been told—
    “You must be a romantic,”
    like it was something delicate,
    a petal too soft for stormy weather.
    But they don’t see the thorns
    I’ve stitched into my smile,
    the way I carry hope
    like a blade in my boot.

    They mistake softness for surrender,
    but I have loved through hurricanes—
    hands trembling,
    heart steady,
    singing lullabies to ghosts
    who only ever came to haunt.

    I’ve written poems to silence,
    and bled ink for people
    who didn’t know what it meant
    to be cherished
    without condition.

    I’ve fallen for echoes,
    mistaken attention for affection,
    believed in almosts
    like they were promises.

    But still—
    I light candles in empty rooms,
    not because I expect someone to walk in,
    but because love
    is a ritual I perform
    even when I’m the only one watching.

    I romanticize survival
    because I know the cost
    of staying soft
    in a world that sharpens everything it touches.

    And yes,
    I’m a hopeless romantic—
    not because I believe in fairy tales,
    but because I believe
    that even cracked hearts
    can bloom again.

    I believe in letters left on pillows,
    in forehead kisses before panic sets in,
    in waiting through silence
    without letting it change me.

    Call it foolish,
    but I will always choose the ache of loving
    over the emptiness of apathy.

    I don’t need love to be easy—
    I just need it to be real.

    So if I love you,
    know this:

    I will not run when the storms come.
    I will hold your hand through the wreckage
    and whisper,
    “This is not the end.”

    Because love, to me,
    has never been about perfection—
    it’s about presence.

    And I will be present.
    Even when it hurts.
    Even when it scares me.
    Even when it means
    standing alone
    with my armor made of poetry,
    and my heart still bare beneath it.

    Closing Note

    In the end, maybe that’s what it means to be a hopeless romantic:
    To carry tenderness like armor, to keep loving even when it hurts,
    and to trust that even the most wounded hearts can still bloom green in the ruins.

    Because it does hurt. And sometimes it feels foolish.
    But I’d rather ache from loving too deeply than be left untouched by apathy.

    Read Next (Suggestions)

    [Splinter Gospel] — A Poem of Fracture & Unrepentant Softness
    [Cry to the Quiet: Sacred Desperation] — A Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem
    [Luminescence & Shadow: A Forbidden Litany] — A Neo-Gothic Confessional Narrative Poem
    [The Bite & Eternal Thirst] — Dark Love, Shadowed Offering & Crimson Hunger

    Or explore the full archive in [The Library of Ashes]—and if your own confession aches to be written, [commission a custom poem here].

    NGCR25 at checkout to get 25% off your ‘request’…