I’ve played with 100-word prose poems lately. The assigned word limit forces a greater emphasis on word choice, and it’s a good editing exercise.
. – . – . – .
My Hope for You
I have only the time to write these fewest words. Forgive.
No sleep for nearly a week, it feels. No real sleep.
On the night of the attack, rains were uncommonly wet, and hard enough to break
Our most promiscuous men began celebratory firings overhead prematurely.
We were out-numbered ten-to-one.
They spent us like found money, ripped and stripped like rags.
“My men have been cut to pieces,” the general said, or was said to have said,
or should have acknowledged.
But no man objected the journey, not one.
Forgive my short life. That’s my hope for you.
– . – . – . –