Try this one

The Hypocrite

He was a dour man
tenacious in his hard way
his beliefs alone should hold sway
all others he would ban,
one day he fell from grace,
no one saw a trace
nobody noticed a thing
but he,
he pursued his own soul
to the depths of hell
felt the chill of death take hold
hated the soul that he had sold
could not look at his own face
crucified himself upon a bitter tree
could not bear to see
a shadow of himself
shattered glass
did not care what came to pass
he ran and ran
round and round;
not moving,
he screamed and wailed
no sound;
sailed through troughs rode crests
on stormy seas
but still he could not rest:

he hid all this well
from prying eyes
continuing to patronise
to sleek his hair and charm
to brush his clothes and smarm
to wag a warning finger at those who slipped and fell
into his own everlasting, unremitting hell.

Sue Hemmings March 2006