Two confessions in ink by Rowan Evans

“There are moments the abyss feels like home.
So we return to the edge—not to wish for flight,
but to see how far we fall.”
— Rowan Evans

These two poems were written in different hours of darkness, but they share the same marrow:
A gospel whispered from the edge of belief.
A confession to the sky and to the abyss alike.
One is a prayer wrapped in doubt.
The other, a quiet litany of almost-leaping.

They are my sacred offerings to anyone who has ever felt broken but still breathing; to the soft-hearted heretics, the quiet survivors, the ones who keep rising even when they don’t know why.

The Gospel of My Decay
(Liturgia Ruinae)

Poetry by Rowan Evans

“Bless me, Father, for I have bled.”
— Rowan Evans

I. Invocation

It takes everything in me
just to get out of bed lately.
I hate this—this pain in my lungs,
this ache in my chest.
I sit in the dark,
talking to God, asking why?

Why me?
Why do I have to bleed?
Why do I have to bend,
why do I have to break?

Why is this a feeling I can’t shake?
Don’t I deserve to be okay?
Don’t I deserve to put a smile on my face?


II. Confession

Why
the
fuck

did you make me this way—
broken, alive but slowly decaying?

And they question—
Why don’t you believe?
So I ask back—
Why would I believe?

You say God
would never leave.
Is that supposed to be enough?
Is that what you call divine love?
’Cause it feels more like apathy to me,
and if I could help myself, I would—happily.

But I
don’t see
that happening.


III. Benediction

Forgive me, Father,
for the questions I ask.
For the softness that splinters,
for faith that fractures.

Still, I rise—
not because I believe,
but because the dawn drags me forward.

Amen,
even when I mean:
I don’t know if I can.

And yet, the night had more to confess…

On the Edge Again
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I’m on the edge again,
Standing on the ledge again—
Overlooking the cliff, like
I might just try and fly tonight.
One step forward before I leap,
Wings outstretched—
but I don’t have them.
So I plummet toward the earth below,
And as I pray for peace—

Time
seems
to slow.

I watch closely—
ground quickly approaching.
One deep inhale,
Eyes shut tight—
Open them up:
I’m in hell.

And time,
it moves
so slow,
even as I
quickly
approach.

Eyes open,
gasp for breath.
There I am,
still standing
on the ledge.

Fall to knees,
struggling to breathe.
Tears spill
from my eyes
like ink.
So I—
pause, rethink
how it could have
all ended in a blink.

And I’m—
on the edge again,
standing on the ledge again.

If these pieces spoke to your shadows, you might also find resonance in:

13 Psalms of Falling — another prayer for the broken and the breaking.

Litany & Tongue — where confession meets devotion.

Vigil of the Broken Saint — standing holy and fractured at the edge.

Or visit [About NGCR] to learn more about this movement—and if you feel called, [submit your own confessions] to be featured.

If my words speak to you, and you’d like to help keep this flame burning — or if you’d like a custom poem woven just for you (or someone dear) — you can do so here:

Ko-fi — Poetry by Rowan Evans