neo-gothic confessional – Poetry by Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem was born from the quiet moments between winter’s chill and candlelight, where shadows linger and hearts search for warmth. Gothic Christmas is my meditation on light and darkness coexisting—how even in cold, silent streets, a flicker of hope can endure. It is for those who find beauty in the night, who embrace the melancholic as much as the joyous, and who believe that love and light can exist even in the most shadowed corners.

Lone figure kneeling by a candle on a snowy gothic street at night, with spires and shadows in the background. — *A flicker of hope shines in the gothic winter night.*

Gothic Christmas
Poetry by Rowan Evans

In the heart of winter’s embrace,
Where shadows linger in every space,
A Christmas tale unfolds tonight,
In the realm of darkness, devoid of light.

The moon, a pale and distant gleam,
Casts shadows on the icy stream.
A lone figure roams the streets,
Where silence reigns and coldness meets.

Gothic spires against the sky,
Reach for heaven, where angels fly.
But in these streets, no joyous cheer,
Only whispers of a darker fear.

Beneath the eaves of ancient stone,
The windswept trees their branches moan.
Through cobbled lanes and narrow ways,
A figure in the darkness strays.

No merry carols fill the air,
No laughter heard, no spirit rare.
Only the echo of footsteps light,
Through the haunted, silent night.

But in a corner, dim and cold,
A flicker of candle, ancient and old.
A figure kneels in silent prayer,
Amidst the shadows, deep despair.

For Christmas here is not the same,
In this gothic land of ancient fame.
But in the heart, a flicker, too,
A flame of hope, both old and new.

For in the darkness, cold and stark,
There beats a heart, a tiny spark.
A whisper soft, a promise true,
Of light and love, for me and you.

So in this gothic Christmas night,
Amidst the shadows, cold and white,
Let’s hold onto that flicker bright,
And dream of morning’s gentle light.

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

Author’s Note

This poem is not about wanting to die.
It is about learning how to survive long before learning how to live.

A shadowed figure in a dimly lit room, reflecting in solitude, surrounded by deep shadows and soft light, evoking introspection and survival. — *Reflecting on survival, solitude, and the quiet strength found in shadows.*

Since I Was Thirteen (Fluent in Survival)
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I feel like I’m lost,
I’m wandering.
Twisted thoughts,
I’m pondering.

My demise
in a life I despise.
It’s not that I want to die—
I’m just tired
of trying to survive.

I want to be happy.
I’m alive.

But my head
is so full of dread—
every morning
a negotiation
just to get out of bed.

Body feels heavy,
limbs lagging—
everything moves
in slow-motion.

Slipping into shadows—
going home.
The light has never felt like mine.
I was born in the shadows,
raised in the shade.
Darkness has been
my mindscape—
since I was thirteen.

I learned early
how to make myself small—
how to soften my footsteps
inside my own head.

I memorized the weight of silence,
learned which thoughts were safe to keep
and which ones
needed to stay buried.

Survival became a second language,
spoken fluently,
even when no one was listening.

I say I’m alive
like it’s a defense—
like survival
should be enough.

But living
feels like something other people do
without rehearsing it first.

Closing Note

I wrote this for anyone who learned survival before they learned safety.
For those who are still here, even when “alive” feels like a negotiation.
You are not failing — you are fluent in something the world never taught gently.

For more poetry, check out the archives: [The Library of Ashes]

Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: neo-gothic confessional

Gothic Christmas – A Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem by Rowan Evans

Since I Was Thirteen (Fluent in Survival) – Rowan Evans Poetry