Waxy face, pale white,
sombre robe, pitch black.
Today’s homily breathed out,
glommed from old scriptures,
halitosis of no moral doubt.

Dauntless lecture, piercing conviction,
stinging, sharp dispatched arrows
from a holly quiver, grave arch(bishop).

Wedged truth, revealed, central tenet
barely shifted by the vagaries of time.

My head, downcast, my heart, unlocked
for the divine insufflation,
hope — amelioration
of my wicked mortal fear.

Illustrious speaker, touched by holiness,
in an echo chamber, we hear.
Yet we listen to the unspoken words
of the parish, gathered in solitude,
sharing a silent dread, fearfulness,
corollary of certain death.