Author’s Note
This piece came from a dream that didn’t feel like it wanted to stay a dream.
There’s a strange feeling that comes with certain moments–where something feels unfamiliar, but not new. Like you’re not discovering something, but remembering it.
This poem lives in that space.
Between wandering and being called.
Between searching and being found.
And in that moment where everything quiets just enough for you to hear something that feels meant for you–where you understand it yet or not.
— Rowan Evans
they feel like something you’ve always known.
The Voice in the Haze
Poetry by Rowan Evans
I had a dream last night—
I was wandering
blurry streets,
not a fog
but a haze.
It felt like I had been
wandering for days.
Everything felt foreign,
yet familiar—
and every sound
I had heard before.
Every step
echoed louder
as I marched
with purpose.
Until I was stopped
in my tracks—
I heard it,
an angel’s voice.
It called to me.
Slowly,
my footsteps
faded
until her voice
was all I could hear.
The haze thinned,
as if the world itself
was holding its breath,
waiting for me
to turn toward her.
And so—
I did.
My heart stilled,
caught between fear
and something softer,
something that felt
like remembering.
Eyes locked—
hers
and mine.
She smiled.
I softened.
Step
after step,
I drew closer.
Until her hand
met my cheek,
and I fell
to my knees—
tired,
exhausted
from wandering,
searching.
A single finger—
that’s all it took,
and we were
eye to eye
again.
“Rowan,”
her voice sounded distant,
even though
she stood right in front of me.
“Come to me.
Come see
the Philippines.”
If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]
Poetry by Rowan Evans 