Time of our Lives edit 1.5 milo,milo, billy

[tectak]

Time of our Lives edit 1.5, milo. Is this better? I snuck in another edit to gegengewicht milo

Bruised blue and broken veined, the corpse of failed incursions
lies between two worlds. Belief made grief the penalty
and unclaimed sand the prize; there are no losers.
Death is paradise by promise, or your heaven is not real.
Where lies the greater difference? We die to live again
or we die to live no more. We choose the road to misery,
yet cry when we are lost. The body, holding high the head
of cranial delusions, leaks brine born tears from blood and bone;
piss, bile and sweat from sainted souls. There is no virtue, though.
For sinners, thieves and sodomists, sanguine slaughterers of State,
the creeping killers in the night, and all the foment of the failed
who lunge and strike with knife to heart and boot to skull;
with these shared mortal blocks they fabricate themselves.
A flag held proud and hoist on shanks of calcium...is just a flag;
perhaps the Colours change, but the cloth is all the same.
What differs then, in this short term, when by our nature
we permit kings and gods to make false claims to reverence?
Only this. When comes the shift, each battered body lies alone.
We take no sides, we do not have such will; we only think we care.
We may be one and yet there is a battle all must fight to lose;
death is one world, and life the other. We all fall in between.
tectak
2013

Edit 1

Bruised blue and broken veined, the corpse of failed incursions
lies between two worlds. Belief made grief the penalty
and no man's land the prize; there are no losers.
Death is paradise by promise, or your heaven is not real.
Where lies the greater difference? We die to live again
or we die to live no more. We choose our road to nowhere
yet we cry when we are lost. The body that holds high,
protecting cranial delusions, is flesh and bones,
the blood and bile, the sweat, the piss and brine-leaked tears
of sainted souls; no virtue, though; the sinners, thieves and sodomists,
the sanguine slaughterers of State, the creeping killers in the night,
and all the foment of the failed who kick and strike
with knife to heart and lung; with these shared mortal blocks
they raise themselves. A flag held proud and hoist on calcium shanks
...is just a flag; the colours change, but they are all the same.
What differs then, in this short term, when by our nature
we permit kings and gods to make false claims to reverence?
Only this. When comes the change, each battered body lies alone.
We take no sides, we do not have such will; we only think we care.
We may be one; and yet there is a battle all must fight to lose;
death is one world, and life the other. We all fall in between.
tectak
2013

[milo]

This definitely reads a lot stronger to me. I understand in a rhetorical poem of this nature, abstraction is necessary, but it still raises my hackles.

Bruised blue and broken veined, the corpse of failed incursions
lies between two worlds. Belief made grief the penalty the "belief/grief" rhyme is /not/ working
and no man's land the prize; there are no losers. "no man's land, even a literal one, it too cliche in a piece mostly free from cliche.

Death is paradise by promise, or your heaven is not real.
Where lies the greater difference? We die to live again
or we die to live no more. We choose our road to nowhere "road to nowhere" - again, you know
yet we cry when we are lost. The body that holds high,
protecting cranial delusions, is flesh and bones, I would strike "flesh and bones" (cliche) and blood and bile. the piss and brine is strong enough to carry the analogy
the blood and bile, the sweat, the piss and brine-leaked tears
of sainted souls; No virtue, though; the sinners, thieves and sodomists,
the sanguine slaughterers of State, the creeping killers in the night, too much sibilance here, give us something strong in between the list
and all the foment of the failed who kick and strike
with knife to heart and lung; with these shared mortal blocks "kick and strike with knife" is a poor read
they raise themselves. A flag held proud and hoist on calcium shanks
...is just a flag; the colours change, but they are all the same. "colors change . . etc" deep in cliche territory again
What differs then, in this short term, when by our nature
we permit kings and gods to make false claims to reverence?
Only this. When comes the change, each battered body lies alone.
We take no sides, we do not have such will; we only think we care.
We may be one; and yet there is a battle all must fight to lose;
death is one world, and life the other. We all fall in between.
tectak
2013

overall, there is progress. Some of the wordiness could certainly be cut to make it crisper. Some original wordplay and images would make it more to my taste certainly but I think you are on the right path

milo

[tectak]

This definitely reads a lot stronger to me. I understand in a rhetorical poem of this nature, abstraction is necessary, but it still raises my hackles.

Bruised blue and broken veined, the corpse of failed incursions
lies between two worlds. Belief made grief the penalty the "belief/grief" rhyme is /not/ working
and no man's land the prize; there are no losers. "no man's land, even a literal one, it too cliche in a piece mostly free from cliche.

Death is paradise by promise, or your heaven is not real.
Where lies the greater difference? We die to live again
or we die to live no more. We choose our road to nowhere "road to nowhere" - again, you know
yet we cry when we are lost. The body that holds high,
protecting cranial delusions, is flesh and bones, I would strike "flesh and bones" (cliche) and blood and bile. the piss and brine is strong enough to carry the analogy
the blood and bile, the sweat, the piss and brine-leaked tears
of sainted souls; No virtue, though; the sinners, thieves and sodomists,
the sanguine slaughterers of State, the creeping killers in the night, too much sibilance here, give us something strong in between the list
and all the foment of the failed who kick and strike
with knife to heart and lung; with these shared mortal blocks "kick and strike with knife" is a poor read
they raise themselves. A flag held proud and hoist on calcium shanks
...is just a flag; the colours change, but they are all the same. "colors change . . etc" deep in cliche territory again
What differs then, in this short term, when by our nature
we permit kings and gods to make false claims to reverence?
Only this. When comes the change, each battered body lies alone.
We take no sides, we do not have such will; we only think we care.
We may be one; and yet there is a battle all must fight to lose;
death is one world, and life the other. We all fall in between.
tectak
2013

overall, there is progress. Some of the wordiness could certainly be cut to make it crisper. Some original wordplay and images would make it more to my taste certainly but I think you are on the right path

milo

Hi milo,
I struggled with no man's land and road to nowhere but decided that although the words were cliched, the concept was even moreso. I am still struggling. Belief/grief was not me...blame my Muse. These quippy internals are almost automatic. Is this one bad enough to omit or good enough to keep?
As for the rest,work in progress.
Thanks for all so far. I am listening.
Best,
tectak