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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: modern poet

  • Altars and Roses – A Gothic Poem About Poetry, Devotion, and Emotional Architecture

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece started as me messing around while listening to Ez Mil.

    At first, I was just playing with rhyme patterns and cadence—thinking about internal rhyme, implied rhyme, layered phrasing, all the little mechanics that make writing feel musical.

    But somewhere in the middle, it shifted.

    Because the more I write, the more I realize my poetry isn’t just expression anymore. It’s architecture.

    I’ve built recurring symbols, recurring imagery, recurring emotional spaces. Ravens. Cathedrals. Ghosts. Roses. Fire. Silence.

    Over time, they stopped feeling like random aesthetics and started feeling like a language of their own.

    And beneath all the gothic imagery and dramatic metaphors, there’s something surprisingly simple holding it together:

    care.

    Not grand gestures. Not fantasy.

    Just wanting to make someone’s day softer in small ways.

    This piece became about both sides of that: the mythic voice, and the human one underneath it.

    — Rowan Evans

    Gothic writing desk with roses, candles, ravens, and handwritten poetry
    Beneath every cathedral of metaphor, there is still a human hand reaching gently toward someone else.

    Altars and Roses
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    What I do
    with a pen is sick—

    the way I
    weave rhymes
    inside lines,
    with implied rhymes,
    inside rhymes.

    And don’t get me started
    on the imagery—

    I took Poe’s ravens
    and made them
    a centerpiece.

    I’ve built—
    cathedrals in my rhymes,
    altars to devotion,
    worship in reverence.

    I’ve sculpted
    roses from the ruin—

    I’ve painted pictures
    with words—
    a real gothic Bob Ross.

    I’ve talked to my grave
    in mausoleums—
    with ravens as my witness.

    I’ve sat with my silence
    and I’ve spoken with ghosts
    not my own.

    I carry the weight
    of everyone I’ve witnessed.

    And to the certain someone
    that occupies my mind—

    you still hold a special place.

    Even when my mind
    closes me off—
    it’s you
    that keeps me holding on.

    I’d open the fan for you—
    if you asked me to—

    because I want to do the little things
    that’ll make you smile.

    No questions asked.
    No sweat off my back—

    I’d do it.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Finish What You Started]
    A dark introspective poem about confronting the past, carrying old versions of yourself, and realizing that the only way forward is through the fire.

    [The Shadow and the Spark]
    A psychologically charged free verse poem using Mortal Kombat imagery to explore anxiety, depression, identity, and the realization that survival matters more than victory.

    [Out of Sync]
    A reflective free verse poem about emotional displacement, shifting sleep cycles, and feeling spiritually drawn toward another side of the world.

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

  • Imaginary Lines – A Poem About Borders, Identity & Shared Humanity

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece came from a lifelong feeling of distance – not just from place, but from the way people divide themselves.

    It isn’t anti-country. It isn’t anti-culture. It’s anti-separation.

    I’ve never understood how imaginary lines on maps can outweigh shared humanity. This poem is me saying plainly what I’ve felt for years: we are far more alike than we are different, and the borders we defend so fiercely don’t exist in our blood or our bones.

    This isn’t rebellion for the sake of rebellion.
    It’s clarity.

    — Rowan Evans

    A symbolic image of a cracked border line beneath a star-filled sky, representing unity beyond national divisions.
    The border isn’t the edge of the world. It’s the edge of perception.

    Imaginary Lines
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I don’t feel
    like I’m from here,
    like I come from out
    beyond the stars—
    somewhere far,
    lightyears beyond mars.

    I watch and observe,
    as humans continue
    to act absurd.
    It’s like they
    don’t know how
    to act.
    Kind of like
    they don’t know how
    to treat each other.

    Focused on imaginary lines,
    barriers and borders.
    With a—
    if you’re not like me,
    you’re the enemy
    mentality.

    When you bleed
    it all looks the same.
    Human is human.
    The rest is costume.

    No passport in the bloodstream.
    No nation in the bone.

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