OMG Edit 1.001 erthona, fromcancer, leah

[Leah S.]

With ageing sinews strained by days,
hard stretched and sprained beyond repair, a strain or a sprain, or both? How about "torn"?
out from the scream of Munch's night,
comes forth the unexpected prayer.
That god might slip into the gap
between a life of constant pain
and moments only salved by sleep
(and even that, a dreamer's bane), Lose the parenthetical complaint here. Or at least relocate it to somewhere where it does not interrupt the excellent next two lines. It's 'painfully' obvious it's only there to rhyme with 'pain.'
is not enough to pour belief
into the analgesic pot. I did say excellent, didn't I? Also elegant.
Each twinge that twists is small distress.
What hurts us more than faith is not
the forlorn hope that by our prayers
the agonised will be relieved I'm not sure you don't mean 'the agony will be relieved.' Are the prayers for the narrator and his fellow sufferers, or are they for all those other agonized souls?
but that at best, with grimaced grace,
we by forgiveness are reprieved. Just checking....the reprieve is what hurts us more?
Forgiven for the withered claw, Who's doing the forgiving here? I can't tell.
the shake that marks us in a crowd,
the crooked spine, the humped-up back,
the coprolalic curse out loud.
Some claim a deity above who will,
once called, make sick souls well;
distrust though those, the pious few, Awkward! At least write: "distrust though, those, the pious few," although I don't think it will help much.
who love their god then kiss and tell. 'kiss and tell' what? It sounds like you've given the pious the power to embarrass their god.
Create your lord and tailor him,
into a myth so all can see;
for "Oh My God" is sinful pride... I think it would be stronger thus: "your "Oh My God" is sinful pride..."
you made him yours, make one for me. Snarky. I don't really believe that you want one. Also, as a tag line it's a little weak. I want it to say, 'you made one for you, now make one for me', but I can't get it to scan. Best I could do was: 'you made one for you....make one for me,' but that makes it lose the familiar cadence of the phrase, "Now, do it (whatever it is) for me.." and it still has one too many syllables. (Coprolalic curse here.)
tectak
2013

Overall I really like this poem. It makes me laugh at my own suffering, and shake my head and chuckle at the vain internal contortions we all perform to find ways to bear up under the load.

Original
With ageing sinews strained by days, hard stretched and sprained beyond repair,
out from the scream of Munch's night, comes forth the unexpected prayer.
That god might slip into the gap between a life of constant pain
and moments only salved by sleep (and even that, a dreamer's bane),
is not enough to pour belief into the analgesic pot.
Each twinge that twists is small distress. What hurts us more than faith is not
the forlorn hope that by our prayers, the agonised will be relieved
but that at best, by grimaced grace, we by forgiveness are reprieved.
Forgiven for the withered claw, the shake that marks us in a crowd,
the crooked spine, the humped-up back,the coprolalic curse out loud.
Some claim a deity above who will, once called, make sick souls well;
distrust though those, the pious few, who love their god then kiss and tell.
Create your lord and tailor him, into a myth that all can see;
for OMG is sinful pride...you made him yours, make one for me.
tectak
2013