Horfici Epic Poem Scene

[Thystrafeel]

Hi, I'm working on epic poem about a serial killer in the American Civil War. Specifically I'm working on a scene where in a battle the protagonist Steve Wardil kills a Yankee, but I want it to be gory and make people cringe, so I'd like your opinions of where I'm going wrong (I'm making the death more philosophical than graphic) and where to go to make it gory and sickening (to normal people, not you Guys of course. Please help me. Below I'll post the scene. Before you read, notice it's very imperfect. I haven't edited at all and it's all on a whim. So far as well it's incomplete.

The next was bloody; a bad temperament,
unclean and void of any pleasure meant.
Sufficing but for self-reviving hate,
as had endured his seer through hell's gate.
The death was quick and brutal, no one saw;
indemnity of that man's life in awe,
and red was just the color he could see.
The sun was shut out so was day to be
the smoke in air was lightless but was white
and the distance of a few yards was all the sight,
and man, through that density, his life destroyed.
Damned angels in his heart deployed,
he had again found war and death that ride,
till strife and pestilence take him aside.
Beginning stages, as they were revealed
to Christ, and this war, prophesized, repealed
the forward growth of man for blood and sweat:
the ultimate undoing of perfection,
the very last and harshest tribulation.
The soul of one man, removed from his corpse — disband,
Like a ragdoll, his body flails upon the sand.
Innards pouring from his light girth,
the man left bleeding, mixing with the earth.
But color of that much delight was lost
as firing upon everywhere was tossed
the dead, the dying, stupid and the dumb
those that are hated by the godly sum
of true believers fighting on that field
the blue or grey, they brothers, were congealed.
As servants of the Christ, for both the reason
protecting farmers, saving slaves by treason.
The killing of each other so against God's laws,
and this death Steve the first of sake endures,
the blood out-spilling like a fountain red.
The twinging, cringing of the man now dead,
there was no sight of him that left for fun
and everything as come was outward done .
The smelted burning fire of lead balls stuck
in entrails where was found a home in struck .
But there is no pain in him to excite Steve,
death took him quiet, left none to bereave.
It was a shiftless kill, not murderous thrill,
and by such will of his own survival
ill birthed a bitter, whelping side in grew
that he before the moment never knew
it was as if a scare and out of fear
for such removed the devil in him here
which was in him unsettling and dismayed

Thank you for your help.