The Library of Ashes
Here, every poem is a smoldering page — whispered confessions, soft ruins, and sacred rage. Wander newest to oldest.
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The Gift I Carry
You placed trust in my hands—a thing so delicate, I feared my own touchmight shatter it like frost-kissed glass.So I hold it with steady palms,fingertips whispering promisesonly the careful can keep. I know the weight of failure,the ghost of every broken vow,names scrawled on a list of regret,the ink of disappointment bleedingthrough the pages of
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Where My Heart Resides
You are the breath between my thoughts,the quiet hum beneath my skin,the rhythm my heart has learned to beat for.No matter where I stand,I find you in every whisper of the wind,in every moment that lingers too long—you are there, always. You have built a home inside my chest,not with walls, but with warmth,with the
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They Call Me… (Silence)
They call me…The hush before the thunder’s wail,A phantom’s breath, thin as a veil.A specter crawling through hollow halls,A presence felt when darkness calls. They call me…The weight that settles in the chest,A creeping hand, a hollow guest.The sound that screams without a voice,A lullaby stripped of every choice. I slither in when the world
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They Call Me… (Retribution)
They call me…The shadow lurking just out of sight,A whisper wrapped in the veil of night.A curse upon those who dare betray,The silent storm that won’t fade away. They call me…The hand that grips the throat of fate,A nightmare forged from love and hate.A ghost with a hunger, a beast unchained,A reckoning dressed in blood
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They Call Me… (Death)
They call me…The whisper that slithers through the cracks,A shadow that lingers where the light turns black.A twisted reflection in a crimson haze,A monster unchained, lost in the maze. They call me…An infection, a curse, a waking dread,A symphony of screams where angels have bled.Your worst nightmare—personified,You can run, you can beg, but you cannot
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Vault of Pandora
In the wastelands where the crimson sun bleeds, Four souls converge on the blood-soaked sands, Vault Hunters forged in chaos and need, Seeking fortune in forsaken lands. First comes the Reaper, a shadow of death, Eyes cold as the moons that circle in gloom, Wielding Dahl tech with a ghostly breath, He harvests souls, a
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Surviving the Wastes
“War… War Never Changes.” The echoes of bombs long past still linger, A symphony of death with each trigger. Radiation’s kiss upon the air, A wasteland’s lullaby, cruel and unfair. Vault Dweller:I emerged from steel and safety, Where the world was a whisper, faint and hazy. The sun’s harsh glare, a foreign kiss, A reminder
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Pokemon: Edge of Oblivion
In Kanto’s mist, where shadows blend, Two young trainers tread the twilight’s end, Their journey starts where Viridian trees bend, In a world where innocence will suspend. Through Pallet Town’s silent dusk, they roam, Past the burnt remnants of Professor Oak’s tome, Gripped by fear, the world seems to groan, As dark secrets stir in
Poetry by Rowan Evans 