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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: modern poetry

  • The Streets I Walk When I Sleep | A Poem About Dreams, Love, and Emotional Longing

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I didn’t invent the conversation in this poem.

    That’s what makes this piece feel different to me.

    Usually when I write about dreams, I’m translating emotions into imagery after the fact—trying to capture the atmosphere more than the exact details. But this time, I woke up and realized I could still remember almost everything I said.

    Not perfectly. Dreams never survive intact.

    But the emotional core of it stayed with me long after I woke up.

    The strange thing about recurring dreams is how they stop feeling fictional after a while.

    The streets become familiar. The air feels recognizable. The people inside them start feeling emotionally real in a way that’s difficult to explain to someone else without sounding a little unhinged.

    And that’s part of what this piece explores.

    The disconnect between physical reality and emotional reality.

    I know I’ve never walked through Manila in waking life. I know I’ve never stood face to face with her like that. But emotionally?

    Some part of me feels like I already have.

    That’s the part that’s difficult to articulate.

    Especially because the dream wasn’t dramatic. There was no cinematic confession in the rain. No grand climax.

    It was quiet. Warm. Awkward. Honest.

    And maybe that’s why it affected me so much.

    Because the dream version of me said the things the waking version still struggles to say out loud.

    Not in metaphors. Not hidden inside symbolism.

    Just plainly.

    And then, right before I heard the answer—

    I woke up.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure stands on a rain-soaked city street at night beneath warm lights in a dreamlike urban atmosphere.
    Some places live in the heart long before the body ever arrives there.

    The Streets I Walk When I Sleep
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I had a dream last night—

    it’s a line, I’ve written
    a thousand times—

    and I’ll write it
    a thousand times more.

    Because dreams
    don’t feel like things
    that happened
    in my sleep.

    They feel like memories.

    There are times
    I have to remind myself—

    I’ve never been to Tokyo,
    I’ve never walked the streets
    of Manila or Seoul.

    I can’t explain it,
    definitely can’t name it—
    why these connections
    feel so strong.

    Yet, they are the streets
    I walk when I sleep
    and that’s still the same,
    it’s never changed—

    since I was fourteen.

    I’ve just been to
    Manila more lately.

    I had a dream last night…

    It was her and I,
    standing eye to eye—
    and I said everything
    I’ve been too scared to say.

    “I love you,”
    my voice came out
    softer than expected.

    “I always knew,”
    I continued.

    “Since the moment
    something in me changed,
    and you didn’t demand it.
    It just happened.”

    I took her hands
    in mine.

    Sun was gone,
    but you could still feel the heat—
    but the real killer?

    The way the humidity clung,
    making this moment
    sticky sweet.

    “I’ve known
    since the moment I met you
    you were special.”
    I said, my voice near a whisper.

    I felt the way you tensed up.
    You’re not used to this either.

    “It took me six days
    to realize things had changed.
    I wrote that first poem,
    and in my chest, I knew—

    I found home.”

    I felt the tremor in your breath,
    head tilting back
    and we made eye contact.

    Your mouth opened,
    you were about to speak—

    then I woke up.

    Journey in the Hexverse…

    [Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life

    [Separate Timelines]
    “Separate Timelines” is a surreal and deeply introspective free verse poem about emotional distance, time zones, vulnerability, and the fear of losing a connection that already feels meaningful before the words are ever spoken aloud.

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

  • Separate Timelines | A Poem About Distance, Time Zones, and Unspoken Love

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    I’ve always been fascinated by the strange emotional weight of time zones.

    How someone can become such a consistent part of your thoughts that you start measuring your own day against theirs.

    Checking the clock. Wondering if they’re asleep. Wondering what their sky looks like while you’re staring at yours.

    At some point, distance stops feeling geographical and starts feeling temporal.

    That feeling became the foundation for this piece.

    The airport in the dream felt symbolic almost immediately while writing it—a place built entirely around arrivals, departures, waiting, and crossing paths for brief moments before separating again.

    And in the middle of that emptiness, there’s this presence that feels familiar before it’s visible.

    I think that’s what emotional connection can feel like sometimes.

    Not certainty. Not possession. Not even clarity.

    Just recognition.

    This poem also came from the tension between wanting to speak honestly and being afraid of what honesty might change.

    Because vulnerability always carries risk.

    Sometimes the fear isn’t rejection itself— it’s the possibility of losing a connection that already means something to you.

    So the poem lives in that suspended space: between dream and waking, between silence and confession, between leaving and returning.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person sits alone inside an empty airport terminal at night while distant runway lights glow outside.
    Some connections feel close even across separate timelines.

    Separate Timelines
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I had a dream last night—
    I sat alone in an empty airport.
    Not a soul. Not a sound.
    I was the only one around.

    It was just me
    as far as the eye could see.

    Yet, I heard the hum
    of jet engines still—

    Then there was
    the sound of movement,
    footsteps echoing in the distance.

    Eyes scanning—
    trying to locate the source.

    Slowly—

    I rise.

    Getting to my feet,
    I stumble
    trying to get myself steady.

    The footsteps grow clearer—

    slow, deliberate,
    like someone who already knew
    I’d be here.

    And in the stillness
    of this moment—

    silence folds in on itself,
    waiting for me
    to decide
    whether to run
    or stay.

    The footsteps stop.

    My breath catches,
    not from fear,
    but from the strange familiarity
    of a presence I can’t yet see.

    And my legs feel heavy—

    like they remember something
    my mind doesn’t.

    I can’t see you—
    but I feel your presence.

    It’s like you and I
    live on separate timelines,
    simultaneous
    but different—

    like we can only exist like this.

    Because—
    my day
    is your night,

    and your day
    is mine
    just the same.

    It might seem simple to some,
    might even sound a little dumb—

    to get caught up
    on things like that—

    but I’ve been stuck
    on her time
    since I put widget
    on my phone.

    Listen to me…

    there I go again,
    loose lips
    let truths slip—

    even when they’re
    better left unsaid.

    Not because I didn’t want to say it.

    I did.

    But I don’t know
    if the timing’s right,
    or how you feel—

    but I do know
    you’re worth the risk
    of my heart shattering,
    I just don’t know
    if I’m strong enough
    to handle a connection
    breaking.

    So I keep quiet—

    not because
    I don’t want to speak,
    but because
    I’m scared to.

    So I sink
    back into my seat—
    and I feel your presence fade.

    I don’t know if you left
    or if I’m awake—

    but I promise…

    I promise,
    I’ll be back.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    [Memories From a Life Yet to Come]
    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory. “Memories From a Life Yet to Come” is a reflective free verse poem about longing, displacement, emotional alignment, and the strange comfort of recognizing yourself more clearly in dreams than in waking life.

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

  • Memories From a Life Yet to Come | A Poem About Dreams, Longing, and Emotional Alignment

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some dreams feel less like fantasy and more like memory.

    Not literal memory—something stranger than that.

    A feeling. A pull. A version of yourself that already exists somewhere ahead of you, waiting to be caught up to.

    I’ve written a lot about displacement, longing, and feeling emotionally out of sync with the place I was born into. But this piece isn’t rooted in resentment. It’s quieter than that.

    This poem came from the feeling of seeing glimpses of alignment before you’ve fully arrived there yet.

    The strange comfort of closing your eyes and feeling more connected to yourself in dreams than you do while awake.

    Not because sleep is escape— but because sometimes dreams reveal the shape of what your heart has been reaching toward all along.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure stands at the edge of the ocean at twilight, looking toward distant city lights across the water as waves roll onto the shore.
    Some places feel familiar long before we ever arrive there.

    Memories From a Life Yet to Come
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I close my eyes—
    hear the crashing waves,
    taste the salt on my lips,
    feel the wind in my hair.

    I feel like I’m floating—
    even lying in bed.

    When I close my eyes—
    I travel in my head.

    It’s like I remember things
    I haven’t lived yet.
    Memories from a life
    yet to come.

    I see the life
    I want to lead,
    while I live the life
    I want to leave.

    Not because I hate it.

    I’m just misaligned.
    A little off-center,
    a little out of sync.

    It’s like I follow the waves,
    because I was never meant
    for this shore.

    Awake is the nightmare,
    asleep is when I open my eyes,
    and I can see the streets—

    where my life
    will finally align.

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

  • Reading the Sky | A Poem About Depression, Healing, and Emotional Cycles

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    People sometimes talk about depression like it’s constant sadness.

    For me, it’s rarely that simple.

    Sometimes it’s pressure. Sometimes it’s exhaustion. Sometimes it’s numbness so quiet you don’t notice how deep you’ve sunk until something shifts and suddenly you can breathe again.

    That’s where this piece came from.

    Not from a dramatic breakthrough— just a morning where the weight felt lighter.

    And when you’ve carried storms inside yourself for long enough, even small moments of relief can feel almost unreal.

    But one of the hardest things to learn about living with depression is this:

    good days don’t erase bad ones, and bad days don’t erase good ones.

    The storm passing doesn’t mean it’ll never return.

    It means you survived it long enough to recognize clear skies when they arrive.

    That’s what Reading the Sky became about for me.

    Not curing the storm. Not defeating it.

    Just learning its patterns. Learning when the pressure shifts. Learning how to keep breathing through both the thunder and the quiet afterward.

    And maybe most importantly—

    allowing yourself to enjoy the clean air when it finally comes.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary person stands beneath clearing storm clouds as sunlight begins breaking through the sky after rain.
    Some victories are simply learning how to breathe again after the storm passes.

    Reading the Sky
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I woke today
    feeling different—

    like everything
    had changed,
    in an instant.

    Like the storm inside
    had finally gone silent.
    The winds had died,
    but I was alive.

    Smile on my face—
    for the first time,
    didn’t feel out of place.

    I could still see
    lightning on the edges
    of my perception—
    feel the rumble
    of thunder
    in my chest.

    It was softer now.

    This storm had passed,
    but another
    would surely come.

    It’s a cycle—

    and these things
    have a season.

    The storms?

    They come
    and go.

    That’ll never change.

    It’s learning
    to read the sky,
    to feel
    when the pressure shifts.

    Now let me say this plain…

    I’ve got depression.

    It lives in my chest,
    waiting to teach me lessons.

    It’s a storm
    I’ve weathered—

    more than
    any one person should.

    That’s what makes
    days like these—
    feel like the cleanest air
    I’ve ever breathed.

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

  • Global Takeover – A Poem About Music, Identity, and Cultural Influence

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This one isn’t about place—it’s about influence.

    The things we listen to, the artists we connect with, the sounds that shape how we think and feel… they build something in us.

    Something that doesn’t need borders.

    This piece is me leaning into that—letting all those influences exist in the same space, without trying to separate them by origin or language.

    Because at some point, it stops being “global.”

    It just becomes you.

    — Rowan Evans

    Collage of global city elements and music imagery representing identity shaped by sound and culture.
    No borders. No passport. Just sound.

    Global Takeover
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Watch me—
    it’s a global takeover.

    Take a right off
    MILLI Ave,
    look for the big house
    on the corner
    of Pixxie Street—
    address: 4EVE.

    Walk up to the gate,
    punch in the code—
    SB19.

    Keep your eyes on me—

    like a sniper, MC.
    I’m The Outsider—
    fighting style:
    Drunken Tiger.

    Paper on the table—
    the GazettE.
    Headline reads:
    Filth in the Beauty.

    Sitting at an café—
    LM.C in my headphones.

    Notebook open,
    ink scrawled across the page—
    Tommy february6…

    it’s a date.

    Stamped in sound—
    no passport needed.

    I built a home
    out of everything
    I listen to.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [Of No Single Nation]
    What if belonging isn’t tied to where you’re from? Of No Single Nation explores identity beyond borders, reframing home as something found in connection rather than geography.

    [Two Americans]
    What does it mean to share a country, a language, and still feel completely different? Two Americans explores identity, culture, and the quiet disconnect between people who should feel the same—but don’t.

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

  • Two Americans – A Poem About Identity, Culture, and Not Belonging

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece wasn’t planned.

    It started as a stream of thought—just letting whatever was there come out without trying to shape it into something clean or intentional.

    Somewhere in that flow, a pattern surfaced.

    The realization that you can share a label with someone—same country, same language—and still feel like you’re speaking from completely different worlds.

    This isn’t about rejecting where I’m from.

    It’s about acknowledging that belonging isn’t always defined by it.

    — Rowan Evans

    Two people standing apart representing cultural and emotional disconnect despite shared identity.
    Same label. Same place. Different worlds.

    Two Americans
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Time flies
    when you’re lost inside
    a wandering mind
    as days turn to nights.

    It’s a cycle—
    thoughts repeat,
    recycled.

    Up before the sun,
    still up
    when the day is done.

    I smile
    when the moon
    greets me.

    Waves crash down
    as thoughts echo out—
    it’s the tide
    that leads me.

    Drifting at sea,
    looking for a place
    that’ll hold me.

    It’s not here.

    I’m not a
    star-spangled,
    salute-the-flag
    patriot.

    I don’t understand
    nationalistic
    points of view.

    That’s why I drift a lot—
    lost in thought
    like I forgot
    how to talk.

    “You’re an American?”
    “Me too.”

    “You speak English?”
    “Me too.”

    Then why
    does it feel like
    two different languages
    when I speak
    with you?

    Two Americans.

    Two different
    cultural views.

    Same place—
    but never
    felt the same.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [None of It Means a Thing]
    Success, fame, and money don’t mean much without someone to share them with. None of It Means a Thing explores love, purpose, and what truly makes life feel complete.

    [Of No Single Nation]
    What if belonging isn’t tied to where you’re from? Of No Single Nation explores identity beyond borders, reframing home as something found in connection rather than geography.

    [Coordinates of Escape]
    A deeply introspective poem about overthinking, emotional loops, and the desire to start over. Coordinates of Escape traces the journey from internal chaos to a deliberate destination—both physical and personal.

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

  • The Long Way Around – A Poem About Growth, Patience, and Taking the Hard Path

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece started with a line I came across:

    “If you are in a hurry, take the long way around.”

    I don’t know where it actually comes from—but the idea stuck.

    We’re taught to move fast. To find the most direct path. To get from where we are to where we want to be as efficiently as possible.

    But some things don’t survive that kind of movement.

    Some growth only happens in the detours. In the delays. In the parts that feel unnecessary while you’re in them.

    This piece isn’t about slowing down for the sake of it.

    It’s about recognizing that sometimes, the long way isn’t a setback—

    it’s the only path that lets you arrive intact.

    — Rowan Evans

    Winding road through hills at sunset symbolizing a long and meaningful journey.
    Not quickly—but whole.

    The Long Way Around
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    If you’re in a hurry,
    go the long way ’round—
    because sometimes
    the straight line
    is the one that breaks you.

    It’s not ease
    that shapes you.

    It’s the winding roads
    that make you.

    It’s the bends,
    the breaks,
    the slow turns
    that teach you.

    It’s the corners,
    the pauses,
    the places you swore
    you’d never have to pass through.

    And somehow,
    by the time you reach the end,
    you realize
    the long way
    was the only way
    you could have survived.

    Yet still,
    you arrive—

    not quickly,
    but whole.

    The long way
    is the way
    that lasts.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [Where the Tide Calls Me]
    What if feeling stuck isn’t about being lost—but about resisting where you’re meant to go? Where the Tide Calls Me explores belonging, movement, and the courage to follow an unseen pull.

    [Just Before I Arrive]
    A voice calls from somewhere just out of reach. Just Before I Arrive explores the feeling of being guided through a dream toward connection—only to wake up before you get there.

    [Dreaming of Other Streets]
    What if the places that feel like home aren’t the ones you’ve lived in? This poem explores dreams, memory, and the quiet search for belonging in unfamiliar places

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

  • I Don’t Mean Life – A Poem About Misunderstood Words, Identity, and Not Belonging

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are phrases people hear… but don’t always understand.

    “I don’t want to be here” is one of them.

    It can sound final, heavy, even alarming—but sometimes it isn’t about wanting to disappear.

    Sometimes it’s about wanting relief.

    From pressure. From identity that doesn’t feel like your own. From a place that feels more like confinement than belonging.

    This piece is about that distinction.

    About being misunderstood—not because you’re unclear, but because people hear fear before they hear meaning.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing behind a map-shaped barrier, symbolizing feeling trapped by identity and place
    Sometimes “I don’t want to be here” means I don’t belong—not that I want to disappear.

    I Don’t Mean Life
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I say, “I don’t want to be here,”
    and people panic—
    “Don’t say that,” they shout
    as I struggle to find a way out.

    They worry—
    thinking the words
    mean death.

    But really—
    I just want to lift
    the weight
    from my chest.

    When I say
    I don’t want to be here—
    I don’t mean life.
    I mean this place.

    These borders
    that have become
    a cage.

    Do you know
    what it’s like—

    to carry this weight?

    To feel fake,
    filled with self-hate,
    all because of
    where you’re from?

    They say
    I should be
    more like them.

    Handed labels,
    identity described—
    just an American
    in their eyes.

    But I’ve never
    felt like that
    in my life.

    Journey into the Hexverse!

    [Of No Single Nation]
    What if belonging isn’t tied to where you’re from? Of No Single Nation explores identity beyond borders, reframing home as something found in connection rather than geography.

    [Where the Tide Calls Me]
    What if feeling stuck isn’t about being lost—but about resisting where you’re meant to go? Where the Tide Calls Me explores belonging, movement, and the courage to follow an unseen pull.

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

  • Quiet Devastation – A Poem About Feeling Stuck, Lost, and Out of Sync with Life

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There’s a difference between being lost… and being aware that you’re lost.

    This piece comes from that second place.

    Where you can see the distance between where you are and where you feel like you’re meant to be—but something in you still won’t move.

    It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.

    It’s quieter than that.

    A kind of exhaustion that sits in your chest and lingers in your thoughts—while the world keeps going like nothing’s wrong.

    And you’re left there… knowing you’re meant for more, but not knowing how to reach it.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person standing still on a shoreline at dusk, symbolizing feeling stuck and disconnected from life.
    Knowing you’re meant for more… but not knowing how to move.

    Quiet Devastation
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’ve been lost—
    wandering.
    I know,
    I’ve said that before.

    I’ve probably
    said it a lot.

    Wandering—
    through mental rot,
    every thought
    enough to make you stop.

    Out of sync
    with the world
    around me.

    Hand on my chest,
    I pledge
    to the nonsense.

    Exasperated sighs—
    you can see
    how tired I am
    just by looking
    in my eyes.

    It’s a quiet
    devastation—
    to be stuck in place,
    and know
    you’re destined for more.

    As my mind wanders,
    my feet stay stuck—
    glued to a shore
    that’s never felt
    less like home.

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

  • What I Want to Say – A Poem About Love, Fear, and Words Left Unspoken

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    There are things that feel simple in your head… until you try to say them out loud.

    This piece comes from that moment right before a confession—when the words are clear, the meaning is obvious, but the weight behind them makes it harder to speak.

    Sometimes it’s not about not knowing what to say.

    It’s about knowing exactly what it means if you do.

    And not being sure you’re ready for what comes after.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person sitting in low light hesitating to speak, symbolizing unspoken emotions and vulnerability.
    Some words stay locked inside—not because we don’t feel them, but because we know what they could change.

    What I Want to Say
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I have so much
    that I want to say,
    but I don’t know how.

    For some reason—
    I always chicken out.

    I want to say
    1-4-3—decoded.
    But that’s too
    loaded.

    So I say it in
    actions instead,
    but the words stay hidden—
    locked in my head.

    I rehearse the lines
    a thousand times,
    but when the moment comes,
    I swallow them whole—

    afraid that saying them
    might change everything
    I’m scared to lose.

    But the fear pulls me away—
    I’m scared of becoming
    just another disappointment,
    another regret.

    [Not Her—The Echoes]
    A poem about learning the difference between someone who is safe—and the echoes of those who weren’t.

    [The Quiet Inside the Noise]
    What happens when a restless mind finally quiets—not by silence, but by focusing on one person? The Quiet Inside the Noise explores love, fixation, and finding calm in connection.

    [Right Behind My Eyes]
    A raw and introspective poem exploring dissociation, emotional distance, and the grounding power of love. Right Behind My Eyes captures the feeling of watching your life from afar–and what keeps you from disappearing completely.

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