An attempt in poetry ...

Holding my head in shame, i confess. Having read English classics, felt the need the following to address:

-----

Even if the Pope does not smoke dope

It does not mean

He is the hope

The light and gold of Rome

Passion for Christ

Is it better than poltergeist?

Floating in the air

Saintliness

Or is it emptiness

Nonetheless

Amen

Preacher of hate

Hooked on his beliefs

How does he get his reliefs?

Dark in mind

Cloudy thoughts, up from the fire

Under the belly

Are there enough young ones

Up there

Sharp metal scratching skin

Is it, are they, in?

Condemned by milord

Bleeding with a smile

Or so he hopes

In silence

Pondering, did I win?