Rowan Evans poetry – Poetry by Rowan Evans

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

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]

May 16, 2026 12:05 AM

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The Shadow and the Spark – A Mortal Kombat Inspired Poem About Mental Conflict and Survival

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

For a long time, I treated parts of myself like enemies.

The anger. The depression. The anxiety. The numbness. The intensity.

I thought healing meant defeating those parts—silencing them, overpowering them, forcing them out of existence.

But that mindset turns your own mind into a battleground.

This piece uses the language and imagery of Mortal Kombat because fighting games have always fascinated me symbolically. Every character feels like an exaggerated emotional state: rage, grief, control, fear, vengeance, power, identity.

And sometimes living with mental illness feels exactly like that: constant internal matches, different versions of yourself stepping into the arena one after another.

But the ending became something unexpected while I was writing it.

Because eventually I realized: the goal isn’t to destroy the shadow.

The shadow is still part of me.

This piece stopped being about conflict halfway through writing it.

It became about coexistence.

— Rowan Evans

Every fighter shared the same player.

The Shadow and the Spark
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Sometimes I lose sight of me,
and honestly,
I don’t like this side of me.
When darkness takes over
inside of me—
it seeps out, Noob Saibot,
shadow right beside me.

I’ve weathered storms,
in Netherrealm—
trapped in Mortal Kombat
with a version of myself.

Bi-Han
versus
Kuai Liang

And that’s just one side of me,
I’ve got the fire of Hanzo Hasashi—
it burns deep inside, smoldering.
Shirai Ryu and Lin Kuei,
fire and ice, inside of me.

It’s a feeling, I can’t escape—
Sindel screams inside my brain.
Skull rattles, skeleton shakes,
it’s a fatality that shakes me awake.

The shadows
try to silence—
screams,
fire and
ice collide—
steam.

It’s pressure
released.

But it’s still a war inside,
even when I can’t see.

Shadows move.
Screams echo.

Kindling ignites.
Water freeze.

Each takes its place
center stage,
face to face—

round one.
Round two.
Flawless victory.

The shadow
beat the scream,

silenced the noise.

And the next battle
takes place—
two elements step in,
who’s going to win?

Fire and ice,
passion and apathy—
I say “get over here,”
to those in need.

So passion takes the lead,
but the shadow creeps—
it seems to come from
anywhere and nowhere,
above, below—
from where it’ll strike,
no one knows.

Pause.
Select fighter.

Shit’s about to get
electric,
Raiden is on the move—
Noob gets a shock to the system.

Shadow shocked.

Uppercut. (Toasty!)
Stage shift.

New arena
but the fight
continues.

The shadow
and the spark—

the light
and the dark—

—but neither side
can truly win.

Finish him?

No.

I’m tired
of fighting myself.

So I lower my fists,
let the arena lights dim—

and for the first time,
the shadow
stands beside me
instead of against me.

Because the shadow
is still me.

The fire
is still me.

The scream,
the silence,
the ice,
the lightning—

every fighter
shares the same
player.

Controller shaking
in my hands,
I finally understand—

this was never
about victory.

Only survival.

Journey into the Hexverse…

Previous:
[East Knows My Name]
A deeply introspective poem about emotional displacement, cultural disconnect, and feeling spiritually drawn toward a place far from where you were born.

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

[The Waves That Call Me]
A reflective free verse poem about doubt, perseverance, and learning to trust the pull toward the life you truly want.

Upcoming:
[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.

[Altars and Roses]
A gothic free verse poem about poetic identity, recurring symbolism, devotion, and the quiet humanity beneath dramatic imagery.

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

May 14, 2026 12:39 PM

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121° East – A Poem About Distance, Identity, and Becoming

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This piece started with a number.

Something simple. Something I never thought twice about.

But the more I sat with it, the more it started to feel like more than just geography.

Longitude isn’t just distance–it’s alignment. Points that exist separately, but mirror each other across the curve of the world.

This poem explores that idea.

Not just of going somewhere…
but of becoming someone.

Because sometimes the hardest distance to cross
isn’t measured in miles or degrees–

it’s the space between who you are
and who you’re ready to be.

And maybe that moment–
that decision to move, to follow the bull instead of resisting it–

that’s the real crossing.

Not the ocean.

Not the world.

But the line you’ve been standing on for longer than you realized.

— Rowan Evans

Some distances aren’t measured in miles—but in who you’re becoming.

121° East
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Who knew 121°
from West to East
would hold so much
meaning for me?

It’s the trajectory
of a moth in flight—
crossing ocean waves
in search of flames.

Two points on a spinning globe
reflecting each other—
like halves of a compass
waiting to align.

But first,
I’ve got to cross
that line—

the Prime Meridian.

Maybe crossing that line
isn’t about travel—
maybe it’s the moment
I stop standing still,
and let myself become
the person I’ve been orbiting.

A moth doesn’t question
why the flame feels familiar—
it just flies,
trusting the pull
more than the dark behind it.

And maybe the flame
was never a place at all—
just a warmth I recognized
from a distance,
calling me home
in a language not my own.

That’s the hardest part—
not the distance,
not the oceans,
but stepping past the version of myself
that never thought I’d move.

The world curves gently
between here and there—
a quiet arc of possibility
I trace with my thumb
every time I look at a map.

Every longitude has a twin—
a shadow line
humming on the far side of the world,
waiting for the moment
I decide to follow it.

Funny how a number
I never cared about
suddenly feels like prophecy—
like the universe slipped me
a cosmic inside joke…

and I’m only now getting it.

Journey into the Hexverse!

And maybe direction is only the beginning… [Low Hum] (04/12)

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

Apr 11, 2026 12:05 AM

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Alphabet Attitude – A Short Rage Poem About Language, Anger, and Wordplay

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Sometimes anger doesn’t arrive in long speeches–it shows up in fragments, sharp and sudden.

Alphabet Attitude plays with language the way frustration plays with the mind: out of order, sarcastic, and biting. What begins as a playful twist on the alphabet quickly unravels into something more honest–a confession that sometimes rage hides inside humor and wordplay.

Every letter becomes a weapon. Every syllable carries a feeling that refuses to stay quiet.

— Rowan Evans

Sometimes the alphabet isn’t for spelling—it’s for attitude.

Alphabet Attitude
Poetry by Rowan Evans

Alphabet Attitude
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I got an attitude
like the alphabet—
A, B, D, C, E, F—
You.

Aye, B—
Did you C the way I feel?
Every line, every letter,
everything’s unreal.

Fucked up, messed up,
twisted through and through,
and yeah—it’s all
because of
you.

Every syllable, sharp like a knife,
spitting letters, spitting rage,
this is my life.

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

Mar 15, 2026 8:00 PM

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A Balance Found – A Short Poem About Identity, Duality, and Self-Acceptance

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem was written on February 19th as a quiet reflection on duality within the self. We are often told to choose between parts of who we are – light or shadow, reason or imagination, strength or softness. But real wholeness comes from learning both can exist at once.

A Balance Found is about accepting the full spectrum of who we are. The dreamer and the observer. The light and the shade. Not as opposing forces, but as pieces of the same soul that finally learns to stand whole.

— Rowan Evans

Finding harmony between light and shadow within the self.

A Balance Found
Poetry by Rowan Evans
(written February 19th, 2025)

Ink and shadow, light and shade,
Both have their place, both were made.
One to dream, one to see,
And I stand whole—both parts of me.

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

Mar 12, 2026 11:07 PM

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Unshaken Ground – A Poem About Steady Love and Lasting Devotion

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Unshaken Ground was written during a season of reflection about what love truly means. So often we’re taught that love is sudden, dramatic, or overwhelming – but the kind of love I believe in is built slowly and intentionally. Like a house with a strong foundation, it requires patience, car, and the willingness to lay each stone deliberately.

This poem explores the idea that real devotion isn’t fragile or fleeting. It’s steady. It grows through distance, through time, through trust carefully built piece by piece. The speaker offers not grand promises made in haste, but a quiet vow: to build something strong enough to last.

At its heart, Unshaken Ground is about creating a safe space for another person’s heart – a love that stands firm no matter how long the journey takes.

— Rowan Evans

Love worth keeping is not built in a moment—it is laid stone by stone, steady and unshaken.

Unshaken Ground
Poetry by Rowan Evans
(written February 20th, 2025)

I do not build on sand, fleeting and weak,
where waves of doubt erode what we seek.
No, my muse, I carve each stone with care,
laying them firm, piece by piece, laid bare.

This foundation is not rushed nor undone,
it’s tempered in patience, beneath the same sun.
Brick by brick, trust will rise,
a home for your heart behind steadfast eyes.

The distance may stretch like an endless sea,
but my words are the bridges from you to me.
Each vow I craft, a pillar strong,
to hold you safe where you belong.

You are worthy of towers kissed by gold,
of walls that shelter from nights so cold.
Not a castle of glass, fragile and thin,
but a fortress where love will not cave in.

I will weave my devotion like roots in the earth,
steady and deep, proving your worth.
No fleeting storm can wash me away,
I am here, my muse, I will always stay.

And one day, no oceans to stand in our way,
I’ll cross them all—just to say, I stayed.
Not just in words, but in presence and touch,
to give you the love you’ve deserved so much.

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

Mar 11, 2026 9:07 PM

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Whispers of the Green Muse | A Poem on Nature, Creativity, and the Cannabis Muse

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem came from a moment where creativity felt tangled up with the natural world – the kind of moment where inspiration seems to arrive on the wind. The “green muse” here isn’t just cannabis, but the feeling of letting your mind wander into the quiet places where ideas take root and grow.

I wanted the rhythm of the poem to feel like the ritual it references: pause, breathe, pass the moment along. That repetition – puff, puff, pass – became a kind of poetic heartbeat, grounding the wandering imagery of smoke, leaves, and the spark of imagination.

For me, the piece isn’t about escapism. It’s about that brief window where the mind loosens, the world softens, and creativity slips through the cracks. Nature, after all, has always been one of humanity’s oldest muses.

— Rowan Evans

Where nature whispers and creativity blooms—the green muse at work.

Whispers of the Green Muse
Poetry by Rowan Evans
(written February 21st, 2025)

I carry a pocketful of nature’s gift,
A little bag of earthbound bliss.
Sunshine wrapped in emerald hues,
A spark, a flame—my mind breaks loose.

Puff, puff, pass…
Puff, puff—

A breeze of pine, a kiss of sage,
Smoke swirls like mist on a mountain stage.
Wisps of thought take root and bloom,
Ideas dancing in the room.

Puff, puff, pass…
Puff, puff—

Eyes half-lidded, visions wide,
Fingers race, no need to guide.
The whispering leaves, they speak to me,
A symphony of poetry.

Puff, puff, pass…
Puff, puff—

Rolling clouds, a lifted mind,
Floating where the muses climb.
From soil to soul, the vines entwine,
Nature’s magic, in every line.

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

Mar 10, 2026 9:17 PM

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Love Like an Atom Bomb – A Poem About Explosive Love and Transformation

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

This poem explores the overwhelming power of love through the language of nuclear imagery—countdowns, chain reactions, fallout, and rebirth. I was interested in the idea that love can feel both destructive and creative at the same time: something that levels the person you were, only to leave space for something entirely new to grow.

The metaphor of an atom bomb captures that moment when emotion reaches critical mass—when attraction becomes unstoppable and the self you knew before can’t survive the impact. But even in the aftermath, there is transformation. What looks like devastation may also be the beginning of something alive.

Sometimes the brightest forces in our lives arrive quietly, without warning, and change everything.

— Rowan Evans

Love can arrive like a chain reaction—sudden, unstoppable, and powerful enough to remake everything.

Love Like An Atom Bomb
Poetry by Rowan Evans
(written Feb 23, 2025)

I never saw it coming,
the countdown silent, unseen—
then your name struck like a spark,
and in an instant, I was ground zero.

The air trembled,
a shockwave of heat and want,
your voice splitting the atoms of my restraint,
your touch igniting a fission in my bones.

We reached critical mass—
unstoppable, inevitable—
love detonated in the space between our lips,
burning away everything I was before you.

The fallout of your smile,
a radioactive grace,
laced in my veins, pulsing, consuming—
a chain reaction I can’t contain.

And yet, from the ashes,
where my heart was leveled and laid bare,
new life stirs—
a wasteland blooming in your wake.

Tell me, was it destruction or creation?
A beautiful catastrophe,
a love so bright it blinds,
so fierce it remakes the world.

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

Mar 9, 2026 10:30 PM

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Refusing the Script: A Poem About Rejecting Expectations and Conformity

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Sometimes people expect you to play a role they’ve already written for you. A role shaped by their fears, their politics, or their idea of what loyalty should look like.

This poem is about refusing that script.

— Rowan Evans

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is refuse the role others expect you to play.

Refusing the Script
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I feel I lost my voice
in a way,
put pen to page,
learned the cost to say—
translating rage,
when writing
came to stay.

Breaking bars
on the mental cage,
so I could escape.
I’m no actor—
I don’t perform,
but life’s a stage.

I can hear
your expectations,
the way you
judge from fear—
and manipulation.
You see,
I’ve dwelled within
emotion.

You can’t twist my thoughts,
to change my view,
set in stone, not glass—
solid, not see-through.

I’m no actor—
I won’t perform
for your applause.
I won’t play my part,
won’t fall in line.
Won’t pledge allegiance,
show no hollow pride.
And you simply
cannot convince me,
to see no value
in a human life.

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

Mar 8, 2026 6:32 AM

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Following the Thread – A Poem About Finding Your Way Back to Yourself

Rowan Evans

Author’s Note

Lately I’ve been writing a lot about threads – those quiet lines of connection that keep us tethered when our minds drift too far from ourselves.

This poem grew out of that same idea. Sometimes the way back isn’t a sudden realization or a dramatic turning point. Sometimes it’s just a familiar voice, a face appearing in the fog, a thread you didn’t realize you were holding onto until you followed it home.

— Rowan Evans

Sometimes the way back begins with a single thread.

Following the Thread
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I was gone
for a long time.
Not in body,
but in my mind—
I was wandering,
unsure of what
I thought I’d find.

I was walking
with eyes closed,
balancing tightropes,
and I had high hopes—
that things would work out
in the end.
But I was dreaming.

The only thing
that opened my eyes,
your face
catching me by surprise.
Your voice
cutting through silence,
a common thread
guiding me through the fog.

Night after night,
dream after dream—
the same thread
leading me
through mental scenes.
And somehow,
by following you,
I found my way
back to me.

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

Mar 7, 2026 12:05 AM

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