✦ Author’s Note ✦

Art is a shadowed conversation between creation and chaos. In this piece, I explore the alchemy of patience and fury, the delicate balance between trembling reverence and untamed rebellion. Here, the mundane becomes macabre, and the act of painting transforms into liturgy. Let this poem draw you into the sanctuary where darkness is sacred, and surrender is an art form.

✦ Invocation ✦

Come, children of ink and ember,
step softly into the hours where the world frays at the edges.
Hear the hum of candle flames, the scrape of claws on cobblestones,
the whisper of wind threading through shattered mirrors.
Let your senses awaken: the scent of wet asphalt, the metallic tang of rain,
the hush of wings brushing shadowed rooftops.
Breathe with me the sacred chaos,
let your heart beat in rhythm with storm clouds and raven cries,
and know that in this hour, creation itself bends to your will.

✦ Gothic Bob Ross: Happy Little Blood Splatters ✦
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I can be patient—
but watch me lose patience.

Go ahead. Test me. Push me.
Please—
twist me. Bend me. Break me.

I’ll snap back, teeth bared, claws ready,
painting happy little blood splatters
next to storm clouds and crying ravens,
the iron scent of rain heavy in the air.

Yeah, I’m timid…
but push me to my limits,
and I bite.

I mix shadows into my morning tea,
steam curling like ghostly fingers,
whisper secrets to the moon,
and smile as the stars lean in close.

Draw blood, right next to a happy little tree,
Gothic Bob Ross with a palette of chaos,
every brushstroke a confession,
every smear a warning
traced in smoke and midnight ink.

I sprinkle ashes on canvas,
watch them swirl like fog over abandoned graves.
I teach crows to count my sins
while rabbits nibble on forgotten bones,
their teeth ticking like tiny chimes in the dark.

Lightning forks across my horizon—
I smile and carve a happy little slit
in the edge of the sky,
a touch of crimson for contrast,
the taste of ozone sharp on my tongue.

I stitch roses onto the night,
petals sharp as knives,
scent intoxicating,
and hum lullabies for ghosts
melting like wax on cold stone.

I build castles of broken teacups,
cathedrals of splintered mirrors,
and in each reflection
I see the grin of someone
you really don’t want to know.

Patience is a thread I hold…
until it snaps.
Then I am a storm with brushes for fingers,
laughter like glass shattering
over candlelight and cobblestones,
every crack a confession, every crack a curse.

So go ahead. Push me.
Twist me. Bend me. Break me.
I’ll bite back,
paint that,
laugh in black,
and leave you a masterpiece
you’ll never forget.

✦ Benediction ✦

Go forth, children of shadow and creation.
Carry the chaos in your veins and the ink on your fingertips.
Let the brush of night guide your hands,
the echo of storm and crow sharpen your senses,
and the taste of rebellion color your heart.
When the world demands stillness,
remember the storm you conjure in silence.
In your shadowed devotion,
you are both artist and altar,
and the masterpiece of your darkness will endure.

Journey into the Hexverse

Nocturnal Crossing | Rowan Evans
“Nocturnal Crossing” traces the nightly voyage where two souls separated by oceans meet in dreams. A neo-gothic meditation on longing, devotion, and the sacred intimacy of the subconscious.

Greed — 7 Deadly Sonnets | Rowan Evans
‘Greed’ reveals the hunger that is never sated—the clutching hands, the endless thirst for more, and the hollowness left behind. The third of the 7 Deadly Sonnets.

To Be Near Your Flame | Rowan Evans
A haunting meditation on love, longing, and the quiet courage of staying close to the one who sets your heart ablaze. Includes a benediction for connection and devotion.

Like Lambs to the Slaughter | Rowan Evans
A visceral, urgent poem confronting the dangers children face and the inaction of those in power. Like Lambs to the Slaughter is a call to awareness, empathy, and collective responsibility.