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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: transformation poem

  • 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]

  • 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

    A glowing 121° East longitude line across a world map with a figure looking toward a distant light over the ocean.
    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]