The 99 Poem Challenge: Poetry for Dummies

The 99 Poem Challenge: 1- Prose

Going to War 

     War. That's the word that twists and mixes my emotions inside. The word that fuels my blood and at the same time stabs my heart.  It's the word that gives me fear, passion, adrenalin and dread, capturing it all together and stored deep down inside of me. It is the word, the reason, why three days ago, there I was, sitting in a closed room; sweating bullets, heart pounding and blood rushing fast through my veins, and just stared. Stared at the man standing all six foot tall and asking me- no, demanding me- to be a part of one experience I would have to choose with my life. War.

     That was three days ago, yet here I am now, still finding myself at lost for words; sitting on the same spot, with the same emotions, the same reason, and the same choice. What do you say to a choice where your entire life and future depended on it? What decision do you make where you could either live like a coward or fight? Fight and therefore trashing away all your dreams, your hopes, losing your loved ones and finding no absolute certainty of your future? No absolute certainty for your life? That I find no comfort in and at loss to comprehend.

    The world felt like it twisted on it's axis. Head spinning, I cannot find words. Heat crept in and the feeling of despair- the only emotion I am able to feel now- settled inside of me. Despair. Despair for all the people who had to die, despair for all the other men who faced the same choice, despair for my wasted future, despair for my loved ones, and despair. Despair for what I had to do next.

    Looking up at the crusty, dirt plague room, the sounds of the silents bees buzzing the only thing you hear, wrapping around me along with the continuous beating of silent footsteps of the man I consider my enemy, I made my choice. The man, I know, that at the sound of the wrong words I speak next, would become both my death and my executioner. The man that is now the sealer of my fate. Sweat beading my forehead and the sense of helplessness the only emotion left I felt; I said the only words that might just lengthen the life I'm now trying to save.

"It is war."

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Poetry for Dummies

        So. Prose. You Dummies must be thinking 'What the cow is a prose'? 

According to Wikipedia- which I'm sure every single one of you Dummies has at least heard of, if it's not the place where you all copy and paste your homework from- a Prose is the most typical form of written language, applying ordinary grammatical structure and natural flow of speech rather than rhythmic structure.

If you didn't get that, worry not. It's basically a fancy way of saying, Prose isn't poetry at all and it's just a geniuses way of trying to sound clever. Because that's exactly what Wikipedia just blabbered on about.

The technique to writing a Prose? Just say it as you normally do. There is no technique, hell, even what I'm saying now is an example of a Prose! Take it from it's origins, Prosa, which in Latin means 'straightforward'. And that's precisely what all you have to do in a prose.

I mean, sure, there's a lot of fancy things they say about it, and there's all this explanations. But take it from the Dummy Master, it's simple. I could go on and on about what it is, what types there are, what's it for and such, but then none of you Dummies would get it. So to make it simple, don't think of Prose as a type of poetry and just think of it as the opposite.

Two types of Prose, there's Narrative- which is basically a story, like the one above- and then there's Expository- descriptions, analysis etc. like what this is. Simples, right?

So tada! There you go. That, my dear Dummies, is what a Prose is.

Enjoy,

K.D.