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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: Love Poem

  • Beneath the Surface | A Poem About Deep Connection and Vulnerability

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece comes from a place of wanting more than surface-level connection.

    It’s easy to exist in spaces where we show only what’s safe–what’s presentable, what won’t be questioned too deeply. But I’ve always been drawn to what lives underneath that. The quiet parts. The complicated parts. The things people carry but don’t always speak out loud.

    This poem isn’t just about seeing someone–it’s about being trusted with what’s beneath the surface. The scars, the thoughts, the moments that shaped them in ways the world doesn’t always get to witness.

    There’s a kind of intimacy in that. Not in fixing or changing someone, but in understanding them. In holding space for everything they are, even the parts that feel hidden or unfinished.

    At its core, this piece is about connection–not the easy kind, but the kind that asks you to slow down, to listen, and to see someone fully.

    And maybe, to be seen the same way.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing at the edge of water with a glowing emotional world beneath the surface representing vulnerability and depth
    The surface is safe—but the truth lives beneath it.

    Beneath the Surface
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Why are so many okay with
    settling at the surface?
    I want to dig deeper—
    get to the core of you.

    See where the roots lie,
    the ties that bind—
    let me see the universe
    behind your eyes.

    Windows to a galaxy
    all your own
    and I want to call,
    at least one of those worlds—
    my home.

    Let me go beyond
    what the eyes can see,
    let me peer within,
    let your soul breathe.

    Take a breath,
    relax.

    I just want to know—
    I want to see the essence,
    the truth,
    And all of the scars
    you don’t disclose.

    I want to hear the stories
    of the battles fought,
    the wars waged
    in silent thought.

    The ones
    nobody else knew—
    I want to help mend
    the fractures in you.

    The surface is safe,
    but I want the depths,
    the places
    where your heart has wept.
    I want to touch
    the parts untouched by light—
    where dreams
    and fears take flight.

    Let me see the storm
    inside your soul,
    the cracks,
    the pieces,
    the parts—
    that don’t feel whole.

    Because—
    I want to understand.

    Not just the surface,
    but every grain of sand.
    Every emotion, every tear—
    All of the things
    that make you real,
    that make you—

    You.

    Not the mask,
    not the show,
    But the truth
    you often don’t show.
    I want to see—
    to feel,
    and to know.

    The beautiful chaos
    that makes you whole.

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

  • Standing Between Us | Identity & Love Poem

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece lives in a space between two interpretations, and I wrote it that way on purpose.

    It can be read as a reflection on identity–on the versions of ourselves we carry, the ones we’ve been, and ones we hesitate to become. A room filled with selves, each one shaped by different choices, different fears, different moments of almost.

    But it can also be read as something more relational. The figure in the piece–“her”–can exist as a person. Someone who feels steady, certain, present in a way the speaker isn’t yet. Someone who becomes a point of gravity.

    What matters to me is that the distance between them comes from the same place in both readings.

    Not circumstance.

    Not timing.

    But hesitation.

    In that way, the poem sits in the overlap between becoming and connection–where reaching someone else and becoming yourself start to feel like the same act.

    — Rowan Evans

    Multiple versions of a person standing in a dim surreal room with a distant glowing figure symbolizing identity and connection
    A room full of who I was, who I am, and who I haven’t learned to be yet.

    Standing Between Us
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I walk into a room
    that knows my name too well.

    It is filled with me—
    not reflections,
    not mirrors—
    but selves.

    They stand where I once stood,
    breathe how I used to breathe,
    hold their hands like I remember doing
    before I knew why.

    Some look at me.
    Most don’t.

    They are not ghosts—
    not quite.
    I cannot see through them.
    They have weight.
    Presence.
    Like memories
    that never learned how to fade.

    I move through them anyway.

    Shoulder brushing shoulder—
    past brushing present—
    future turning its head
    just a second too late.

    And then—

    her.

    Not fully seen.
    Never fully seen.

    A glimpse
    between the space
    of two mistakes,
    I used to make.

    A flicker
    caught in the outline
    of who I used to be
    and who I might become.

    I follow.

    Or maybe I orbit.

    Because every time I get close,
    another version of me steps in the way—
    hesitation given form,
    fear with a body,
    longing wearing my face.

    I want to call out—
    but which voice is mine?

    They all sound like me.

    So I keep moving.

    Through regret.
    Through almosts.
    Through the selves that loved—
    too early,
    too late…

    too quietly.

    And still—
    I see her.

    Soft.
    Certain.
    Waiting in the space
    I haven’t learned to stand in yet.

    I think—

    no.

    I know.

    She is not lost in this room.

    I am.

    And every version of me
    that I refuse to become
    is standing between us.

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

  • Eternal Current: A Poem About Timeless Love by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem was written on February 17th, 2025. It explores the quiet, unspoken moments that carry immense depth – the small gestures, the glances, the eternal connection that flows between two hearts. Inspired by fleeting yet timeless intimacy, it is meant to capture love as both gentle and vast, like a river that carries everything along its current.

    — Rowan Evans

    Two figures beside a sunlit river, connected by an ethereal, flowing current symbolizing love.
    Eternal Current – love that flows timelessly, like water through the heart.

    Eternal Current
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (written February 17th, 2025)

    A gasp, a sigh—
    a whisper low,
    your eyes shine,
    with sun and moon’s glow.
    A touch, a flame,
    a silent truth,
    and the world fades
    when I see you.

    Promises carved
    in midnight skies,
    where the heart beats once,
    but never dies.
    This love, like a river—
    endless, wide,
    where two souls drift,
    forever entwined.

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

  • Love Like an Atom Bomb – A Poem About Explosive Love and Transformation

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem explores the overwhelming power of love through the language of nuclear imagery—countdowns, chain reactions, fallout, and rebirth. I was interested in the idea that love can feel both destructive and creative at the same time: something that levels the person you were, only to leave space for something entirely new to grow.

    The metaphor of an atom bomb captures that moment when emotion reaches critical mass—when attraction becomes unstoppable and the self you knew before can’t survive the impact. But even in the aftermath, there is transformation. What looks like devastation may also be the beginning of something alive.

    Sometimes the brightest forces in our lives arrive quietly, without warning, and change everything.

    — Rowan Evans

    Surreal illustration of a glowing atomic explosion transforming into blooming light and flowers, symbolizing the explosive and transformative power of love.
    Love can arrive like a chain reaction—sudden, unstoppable, and powerful enough to remake everything.

    Love Like An Atom Bomb
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (written Feb 23, 2025)

    I never saw it coming,
    the countdown silent, unseen—
    then your name struck like a spark,
    and in an instant, I was ground zero.

    The air trembled,
    a shockwave of heat and want,
    your voice splitting the atoms of my restraint,
    your touch igniting a fission in my bones.

    We reached critical mass—
    unstoppable, inevitable—
    love detonated in the space between our lips,
    burning away everything I was before you.

    The fallout of your smile,
    a radioactive grace,
    laced in my veins, pulsing, consuming—
    a chain reaction I can’t contain.

    And yet, from the ashes,
    where my heart was leveled and laid bare,
    new life stirs—
    a wasteland blooming in your wake.

    Tell me, was it destruction or creation?
    A beautiful catastrophe,
    a love so bright it blinds,
    so fierce it remakes the world.

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

  • Litany of the Unseen – A Poem About Devotion, Patience, and Unspoken Love

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece was originally written on May 16th, 2025 and revised on March 5th, 2026.

    When I first wrote it, I was trying to put language to a very specific feeling: the quiet intensity of caring for someone without the expectation of possession. Not infatuation, not conquest – something slower, more patient. Something willing to wait.

    When I revisited this poem nearly a year later, I realized the core of it hadn’t changed. What needed revision wasn’t the emotion, but the clarity of the language carrying it. So the edits focused on sharpening the rhythm and giving the poem room to breathe.

    At its heart, this piece is about devotion without pressure. About choosing someone’s mind, their spirit, their survival – long before anything physical ever enters the conversation.

    Some connections are loud.

    Others are learned slowly, like scripture – line by line, in candlelight.

    — Rowan Evans

    Open journal with handwritten poetry illuminated by candlelight in a dark gothic atmosphere symbolizing quiet devotion and longing.
    Some connections are learned slowly—like scripture read by candlelight.

    Litany of the Unseen
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I write you from the ache—
    that quiet hunger
    that doesn’t scream,
    only simmers
    beneath my ribs
    when I think of the way
    your silence
    feels like scripture.

    We’ve never touched.
    But gods,
    how I’ve memorized
    the shape of your mind
    like fingers tracing verses
    down a sinner’s spine.

    You are flame
    wrapped in frost,
    and I?
    I’ve learned to burn
    patiently—
    in half-light,
    between the lines
    we won’t say out loud.
    Not yet.

    I don’t flinch when you flinch.
    Don’t run
    when your walls rise like cathedrals.
    I kneel there,
    devout to the altar of your guardedness,
    lighting candles from the sparks
    you try to hide.

    You are my kind of wicked—
    a temptation carved
    in shadow and starlight.
    I’d follow your lead gladly,
    no leash needed.
    You won’t have to tell me to kneel—
    I’m already on my knees,
    in prayer to your divinity.

    I know the things you’ve survived
    don’t leave quietly.
    I’ve kissed ghosts before,
    I’ve held hands with trauma—
    I won’t ask you to exorcise yours.

    I only want to be
    the breath
    between your battlegrounds,
    a peace
    that doesn’t demand surrender.
    A vow made not in rings,
    but in the way I never leave
    when the light dies.

    You could dig your doubts
    into the marrow of my faith,
    and still
    I’d come bearing roses
    with thorns pressed
    to my own skin.

    Tell me to wait.
    I’ll grow roots.

    Tell me you’re not ready.
    I’ll build time in your image.

    Your heart doesn’t scare me.
    Not its lock,
    not its labyrinth.
    I will read your scars
    like secret psalms,
    and worship
    every wound
    that taught you
    to be wary of softness.

    You are a slow scripture—
    and I am learning your verses
    by candlelight,
    with tongue and tear,
    with patience
    dressed in velvet.

    I am not here for conquest.
    I am here for communion.

    So when you are ready—
    if you are ready—
    I’ll still be here.
    A sanctuary of unbroken promises,
    with fire in my hands
    and no expectations on my lips.

    Just the unspoken truth:
    You are already holy to me,
    even unseen.
    Even untouched.

    And I would choose your mind
    a thousand times
    before your body ever asked.

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

  • Before I Say It – A Poem About Love, Hesitation, and Wanting to Mean the Words

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some words carry weight.

    I’ve said them before in lighter seasons, when the feeling was warm but feeling. This time feels different. This time, I want to be certain before I let them leave my mouth.

    This poem is about hesitation – not because I’m unsure of you, but because I want the words to be true when I say them.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing quietly at a cliff edge overlooking a calm ocean at sunset.
    Some words are worth waiting to mean.

    Before I Say It
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I dance around them—
    the words I want to say.
    One letter followed by four,
    finished by three.
    It’s funny to me,
    this fear that grips my chest.
    I try my best
    to push it out,
    to keep it down.

    I bite my tongue
    so the words won’t come out.
    Even though,
    I’d stand on the ledge
    and shout.
    I’d scream it out.
    If I wasn’t so—

    scared.

    But what am I afraid of?
    What is it exactly,
    that makes this anxiety
    attack me?

    It’s the feelings inside,
    they feel brand new.
    Like nothing
    I’ve ever experienced.
    Sure, I have had
    crushes before—
    but this feels
    different.

    I’ve said—
    1-4-3 before,
    with ease.
    Easy as
    a summer’s breeze,
    with a warmth to match.
    But the feelings
    weren’t attached.

    But with you,
    the words hit my teeth—
    fall into retreat,
    because I want to be sure.
    I want to know
    that these feelings,
    that I’m feeling—
    these moths in my stomach,
    fluttering toward
    the flickering light
    inside my mind,
    the thoughts of you.

    I want to know
    they’re true.
    Because I never
    want to lie to you.

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

  • Tattooed Pages – A Poem About Hidden Love, Writing as Therapy & Learning to Say It Plain

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is about writing as both armor and confession.

    For a long time, I’ve hidden what I feel inside metaphors, inside rhythm, inside lines that only certain people would recognize. Some secrets are meant for the page. Some are meant for one person.

    Every poem that sounds like longing isn’t accidental. It’s practice.

    Practice saying something plainly.

    — Rowan Evans

    Open notebook with handwritten poetry under warm desk lamp lighting.

    Tattooed Pages
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Every time I sit
    with eyes locked
    on a blank page—
    I feel like
    I’m in therapy again.

    And how does
    that make you feel?

    I don’t know,
    I get a little sad sometimes.
    Depression festers
    inside the thoughts
    in my mind,
    anxiety lingers
    twisting shadowed
    fingers around my spine.

    So I write—
    Pouring thoughts
    like shots; fragments,
    shattered glass
    scattered like my mind
    gets sometimes.

    So I write—
    ink across the page,
    like ink across the skin.
    Tattooed pages,
    holding whispered secrets
    and trembling confessions—
    sharing hard learned lessons.

    I write to share
    what you mean to me.
    But I never say your name
    in what I let them see.
    Instead, I hide the signs
    inside the lines—
    secrets hidden in plain sight.

    I’ve written conversations
    between us—
    real or made up,
    for them to guess
    and us to know.
    I write to show
    how much I—
    let you linger
    in my thoughts.

    You mean so much to me,
    and I just want you to know.
    But I’m afraid to say
    too much, so I let it slip
    in subtle secrets.
    Bit by bit, information drips—
    I love your voice,
    and the way you say my name.
    Having you in my life
    is worth more than fame.

    Your attitude?
    It’s perfection.
    Anyone complaining
    just has a skill issue.

    (…they’re a little bitch.)

    Maybe one day
    I’ll stop hiding
    behind metaphors
    and coded lines.

    But until then—
    know that every poem
    that sounds like longing
    is me
    learning how to say it plain.

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

  • I’ll Keep Living (Moving Toward You) – A Poem About Choosing Love Without Losing Yourself

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is my rejection of dramatic love and my acceptance of intentional love.

    It’s easy to romanticize sacrifice. It’s harder—and far more meaningful—to choose presence. To choose consistency. To choose to live well and grow, not out of obligation, but because someone inspires you to.

    This isn’t about burning out for someone.
    It’s about moving toward them. Slowly.
    Intentionally. Alive.

    — Rowan Evans

    A moth hovering near a warm glowing lantern at dusk against a dark blue background.
    Not a promise to burn—
    a promise to move closer, alive.

    I’ll Keep Living (Moving Toward You)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I won’t say I’d die for you,
    that’s cliché,
    but what I will say is—
    I’ll keep living for you.
    I’ll keep being there for you.
    I’ll keep moving toward you.

    Don’t know what it is,
    but I’m drawn to you—
    pulled by something soft,
    something I can’t name.

    I’m just a moth, I guess—
    and you’re the flame,
    I don’t want tamed.
    I want to softly dance in your glow.

    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]