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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: shadow self

  • Finish What You Started – A Poem About Transformation, Shadows, and Rebirth

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some versions of yourself do not disappear quietly.

    Even after you’ve changed, even after you’ve tried to move forward, there are still old names, old mistakes, old selves that follow behind you like shadows.

    This piece came from thinking about transformation—not as a clean rebirth, but as something heavier.

    Something witnessed.

    The ravens in this poem aren’t meant to be enemies. They’re observers. Keepers of memory. Symbols of the parts of ourselves we can’t fully erase, no matter how badly we want to leave them behind.

    And the fire isn’t destruction alone.

    It’s momentum.

    Because sometimes growth doesn’t happen when you escape the past.

    Sometimes it happens when you finally walk through it.

    — Rowan Evans

    Figure walking through burning temple ruins beneath watching ravens
    The only way out is through.

    Finish What You Started
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Strike the match
    and light the flame—

    watch the past
    decay and end.

    I walk through temples
    while the ravens watch me.

    I feel their eyes upon me,
    following—

    every movement
    traced.

    They tally every sin I’ve carried,
    every name I’ve buried,
    every version of myself
    I tried to outgrow.

    They know the weight
    I drag behind me,
    the shadows I pretend
    I’ve already outrun.

    The flame behind me grows,
    licking at the stone,
    urging me forward—

    a reminder
    that the only way out
    is through.

    The ravens
    do not warn me back.

    They only tilt their heads,
    as if to say—

    go on…

    finish
    what you started.

    Journey into the Hexverse…

    Previous:
    [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.

    [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.

    Upcoming:
    [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]

  • 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

    Figure standing beside their shadow in a supernatural arena of fire, ice, and lightning
    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]

  • When the Devil Speaks, I Listen – A Poem About Inner Voice and Self-Reflection

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece started with a simple idea—listening to something you’re told to ignore.

    But the more I sat with it, the less it felt like something external.

    There’s a voice you develop after spending enough time with your own thoughts. One that understands where you’ve been, what you’ve survived, and what you’ve learned to carry.

    It doesn’t filter itself the way you do.

    It doesn’t soften the truth.

    And that’s what makes it uncomfortable.

    We’re taught to silence that voice. To treat it like something separate, something dangerous.

    But sometimes, it’s not the enemy.

    Sometimes, it’s just you—without hesitation.

    — Rowan Evans

    Person writing in dim light with a shadow reflection symbolizing inner thoughts and darker self
    Some voices don’t lie. That’s why they’re hard to hear.

    When the Devil Speaks, I Listen
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I listen—
    when the devil talks,
    because he knows
    the paths I’ve walked.

    I’ve slept
    where shadows crept,
    made my bed in crypts.

    I’ve walked through rooms
    that felt like tombs—
    bled ink on pages,
    translated hurt
    into words.

    I listen
    when the devil talks,

    because I recognize
    he’s walked
    the same paths I’ve walked.

    He’s seen the places
    I’ve laid my head,
    the crypts
    I made home.

    He’s read the pages—
    stained
    with crimson ink.

    So yes—
    I listen,

    because I recognize
    the voice
    sounds like mine—
    just older,
    and less afraid to say it.

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