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.
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.
This poem includes lines in Tagalog, a language I am currently learning. I am not from the Philippines, but I have a deep admiration for Filipino culture and the warmth of its people. I sometimes weave Tagalog into my poetry as a way to practice and retain what I’m learning, exploring how the language can carry emotion and rhythm. Translations are provided beneath the Tagalog lines for readers who do not speak the language.
The poem is an ode to connection, love, and the binding power of words across languages.
“Binding souls across languages and hearts, through words that hold us together.”
The Glue That Binds Poetry by Rowan Evans
Words of love on my tongue, they dance, they fall, A symphony of whispers that rise, then call. But my mind, it runs, relentless, untrue, And it always runs back to you.
Sa labirinto ng aking mga pira-pirasong iniisip, (In the labyrinth of my scattered thoughts,) Ikaw ang sinulid na nag-uugnay, ang nagbubuklod. (You are the thread that ties, the one that knots.) A binding force, a gentle embrace, You hold the pieces of my scattered grace.
Ikaw ang pandikit na nagbubuklod sa aking wasak na isipan. (You’re the glue that binds my fractured mind.) The perfect muse, one of a kind. In every thought, you softly reside, Whispering secrets I can no longer hide.
Your presence paints, in vivid hues, A canvas of words where beauty brews. I find new verses, like rivers they flow, Crafting hymns where love and longing grow.
Mas maganda pa kaysa sinumang banal na kasulatan, (More beautiful than any holy scripture,) Mas dalisay kaysa anghel na umaawit, mas sagana. (More pure than angels singing, richer.) Sa aking puso, muling isinulat mo ang mga awit. (In my heart, you write the songs anew.) And I realize: every word, every line, leads me back to you.
If you are moved by this poem, you may also explore these works, where yearning, exile, and the beauty of culture intertwine:
Escape & Longing | Tropical Dreams & Distant Shores Step into the world of yearning and distant horizons. Rowan Evans explores the pull of faraway shores, the desire to breathe free, and the quiet hope of finding a home beyond the known.
Slim & Shady VIII | Exile & Echoes In Exile & Echoes, the eighth installment of the Slim & Shady series, Rowan Evans explores the haunted silence of exile and the reverberations of memory. A confessional piece that balances shadow, identity, and ruin within the framework of Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism.
In Tongues & Travels | A Celebration of Language & Culture A reflection on the beauty of language and culture, and the devotion of witnessing the world with reverence and curiosity. (A reflective piece exploring the beauty of language and cultural connection—perfectly aligned with the Tagalog lines woven into The Glue That Binds.)
Drifting Without Roots | A Poem on Cultural Identity & Longing A confessional poem exploring envy of cultural heritage, the ache of disconnection, and the search for belonging in a fractured identity.
Some connections strike with a force that makes us linger in the light, even when shadows have always been our refuge. This piece explores that fragile balance—the tension between caution and desire, between self-preservation and the magnetic pull of another soul. It is an ode to the quiet bravery of staying present, even when the heart risks everything for the chance to be near someone who ignites it.
A quiet flame mirrors the gentle longing of the heart—intimate, steady, and unwavering.
To Be Near Your Flame Poetry by Rowan Evans
This is all new to me— this need to speak your name, to feel your laugh echoing through the quiet spaces of my heart.
Usually, I retreat— pull away, hide in the shadows until feelings fade like whispers lost to the wind. But with you?
With you, I linger. Even if the light burns, even if it ends with heartbreak’s echo, I don’t want to run. You make me feel alive— when before, I was just a ghost, moving through motions without meaning.
You’re so easy to talk to, a melody in human form, and I would trade sleep for your voice, give hours to the night just to hear the way you say my name— a moth to your flame, willing to burn if it means I can stay near.
You are always in my thoughts, painting every corner of my mind with your smile, your laugh, the softness of your being.
And still— if all I can do is help you find happiness, even if not beside me, even if my arms stay empty while you shine elsewhere— I will do it. For your smile is worth every sacrifice, every unspoken wish, every late-night conversation under distant skies.
Benediction
May the hearts who wander in shadow find courage to linger in the light.
May the flame of connection burn bright, steady, and unashamed.
And may love, in its quiet, unwavering form, teach us the art of devotion without demand,
The grace of presence without possession,
And the sacred truth that to be near another is sometimes the bravest act of all.
Poetry by Rowan Evans 