I’m writing, sir, against your heresies–
the ones that you pass off as orthodox.
Oh, every sweet celestial saint agrees
that you’ll be groaning in infernal stocks
because of what you dare to teach! It shocks
the conscience to acknowledge you as Son
of Adam. On your inner face, a pox
makes angels draw their swords and graces run.
Your fling with falsehood might right now seem fun–
but you will cease to chuckle once you’re damned.
Life’s short, you fool: your party’s almost done!
Your soul will very soon be body-slammed,
in contrast to my own, on fiery ground!
Mine will be fine — because my teaching’s sound.