Kill, the Night

Kill, the Night

A Poem by Brenden Bow

This is another nonsensical poem.


I confess: I’m forgetful, a guy who can’t remember his underwear, let alone be...
Some boys don’t have a conscience; they lie.
Is their loyalty outdated, and why can't faith suffice,

with a girl whose heart is made of dried ice?

Seeing a frown, that’s worth a thousand words somewhere,
yet, I’m left without a blurb, a heart, or a paddle to spare.

We didn’t eat, but we keep coughing up the feathers of a crow.
Someone should’ve instructed her in safety. Warning: when out of line, a toe,
it can, and will, be severed for use in any nearby block party or street show.

I noticed you ditching your outfit for street clothes, blending, rotating in a manner alike other cogs.
You're going the way the herd goes, it’s alright; I know.

Babe, your choices are written on your forehead, and, boy, have you let yourself go.
Nevertheless, I get knocked aside by your eyes, every damned time, row by row.

© 2012 Brenden Bow

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well this is one of the best I have read in some time...It is the sort of poetry I would love to have written..Maybe though I should stick to kids humour...You have so many great lines in this it is impossible to pick out just one..Keep this up....God...I sound like a teacher

Posted 8 Years Ago

Brenden Bow

8 Years Ago

Thank you for your kind input, and, really, I'm not that great. :3 It's kinda just how my head works.. read more
Dr. Wood ?

8 Years Ago

we are all great in our own have a head that works fine

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1 Review
Added on September 26, 2012
Last Updated on September 26, 2012
Tags: nonsense, underwear, dried, ice, blurb, heart, spare, crow, eyes, cogs


Brenden Bow
Brenden Bow


I've been writing for nine years. It's a solitary art, writing; seclusion works wonders for one's evolution as a writer. I enjoy secluding myself for days, sometimes weeks, with my work. more..