Fugue, February 2009

Love is a symphony,
Cascading conflicting notes in wanderer’s ears.
Combining moments of past and present
Silent enough for all to hear.
Love and hate is its recurring theme
An endless neurotic confusion
Emotions fusion,
A simple fugue.
Doing damage control on the heart,
Impatiently waiting for the piano interlude.
Love is a complex melody,
Tears of desire personifying the truth
Enveloped in its compelling notes
An elaborate love letter
Constructed into
A simple fugue.
Love is an anxious solo
Fearful but anticipatory of the climax …
A standing ovation?
Or a timeless silence?
Love is the verse,
Weaving itself through the musicians soul
Spread along endless sheets of music
The final bow as its impeding and hasty goal.
Love is the chorus that
Combines each story together
Introducing the violinist to her part
Orgasmic tears clutched to her bow,
The little voice inside screams
On with the show, on with the show.
Transforming the depths of a person,
With each carefully spastic movement of the conductors arm
Delving into the hearts abyss,
The hand an hourglass of time …
Love is the rhythm, but not the rhyme.
Saturating the piece,
With an unidentifiable hue
Sits the eager orchestra,
Mindlessly reciting the underdogs recurrent theme
If at first you don’t succeed,
Try, try again
A not so simple fugue.

An Ode to a Stranger
K. Potter, 2008

This is an ode to the beautiful stranger standing near the bar
The one whose secrets I could recite in the blink of an eye
The memories that we share
That we so long to forget
The tears in our hearts as we say goodbye

This is my heart ravished and torn into pieces
Your solemn act of silence as I cry out
Your vows that have been turned into embers
And our story, our passion, our love
Burns alongside our doubt

This is an ode to the beautiful stranger looking at me
Out of the dusty and lonely mirror
She is but a vision, resurrected
And more beautiful than she ever was before
This is an ode to her past
Your past
Our past
That burns alongside our vows

This is an ode to teenage hopes and dreams
That we hold on to with every bit of strength we have
As the years pass, as relationships don’t last
This is our teenage lullaby

This is an ode to my dreams
They are my only beacon of hope
This is an ode to the future
The only possible thing we have left
Saying goodbye to yesterdays sorrows
Saying hello to the memories of tomorrow
And burning the memories of our teenage past


Published by Kristyn Potter

Founder of Left Bank Media. Editor of Left Bank Magazine. Copywriter. I write about music, and New York mostly.