She knows Trouble,
knows him well.
He is an old companion,
familiar,
come to visit time and time again
throughout the years
and wreak havoc upon her quiet heart.

She knows him in all of his forms -
a mischievous grin
the pair of gentle eyes
a heated, desperate touch
the knowing, daredevil look
a burst of sudden sparks
the shy smile...
all of the unexpected
and unlooked for surprises,
but still always Trouble
in the end.

And here he is again,
already in her door,
and she knows him this time, too -
Trouble is a hand,
a hand that with just a simple touch
can reach the depths of her being
and stir a longing more powerful
even than her long-held resolve
to never welcome him again.

But she knows Trouble,
knows she can't ignore him
or be rid of him easily
once he has come to stay.
And he will stay, she knows,
turning her quiet heart
into the torn battlefield
of every war in history,
every bloody conflict
between light and dark, good and evil,
condensed into fiercely pulsating moments,
one anguished beat after another.

She knows Trouble,
knows him well.
He is an old antogonist,
relentless,
come to torment her again
after all of these years
and visit death upon her weary heart.

03/24/2003

Author's Note: Old poem revised. Still not in final form, I think.

Posted on 03/24/2003
Copyright © 2026 Amanda J Cobb