✒ Author’s Note

Sometimes faith isn’t loud.
Sometimes it trembles, raw and unadorned, in the shadows between doubt and hope.
Cry to the Quiet was born from that place: where the prayers we whisper feel unanswered, yet still… we keep whispering.
It is a confession of sacred desperation—a testament that even when light hides, the act of calling out remains holy.

☽ Invocation ☾

In the silence between prayer and answer,
in the shadow where faith trembles—
we gather these fragile words,
an offering cast into the void.
May they carry the weight of longing,
and the quiet courage to ask the unanswerable.

Cry to the Quiet
(Sacred Desperation)

Poetry by Rowan Evans

Lord, if you’re listening—
why do I feel forsaken?

It’s
heartbreaking—
to wear silence like a shroud,
to whisper prayers into a void,
and hear only my own shadow answer back.

Lord, I’m crying out—
I’m pleading now.
Don’t leave me bleeding out,
wounded and desperate for answers.

I reach for you through the fog—
but find only the cold brush of absence,
like fingertips slipping through water,
like a hymn drowned before it can rise.

Where are you when the night folds heavy,
when the weight of empty prayers crushes my ribs?
Are you watching from beyond the stars
or have you turned away,
a silent witness to my fracture?

I am broken—
shards of hope scattered beneath my feet,
each one a story I no longer dare to tell
because the silence that follows is deafening.

Yet still I speak
because if faith is to survive,
it must be a voice that trembles in the dark,
a flicker of flame that refuses to die.

So hear me now—
even if your answer is the echo of my own fear
know this:
I am still here,
still waiting,
still believing
that somewhere beyond this night,
light waits to meet me.

☽ Benediction ☾

May your voice never falter in the dark,
may your prayers be heard even in silence,
and may the light—though unseen—
walk beside you like a steady flame,
until dawn breaks and answers come.

📜 Read Next (Suggestions):

[A-Woman (Confession at the Altar of Her)] – a vow whispered on trembling lips, where devotion becomes quiet rebellion.
[Luminescence & Shadow] – where angel and demon speak their forbidden ache, and darkness learns to love the dawn.
[Haunted Cathedral] – a testament to love that echoes in ruin, carved from shadows and sighs.

Or explore the full archive in [The Library of Ashes]—and if your own confession aches to be written, [commission a custom poem here]. NGCR25 at checkout to get 25% off your ‘request’…

🖋 About the Author

Rowan Evans (that’s me!) is the founder of Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism—a genre where ruin becomes sacred, shadows learn tenderness, and confession is crowned in ink and flame.
A poet of marrow-deep devotion and velvet rebellion, she writes not to heal the darkness, but to name it holy.

“In every silence, a prayer; in every fracture, a psalm.”