Alliteration

A pandering parson with little panache,
Percieved a need for a parallax in the pattern of his personality.
Playing the paragon and persuading the people of his perfect persona,
He found himself in a pickle of a paradox,
Pleading piously to his maker,
A pawn no more to perdition would he be,
If the almighty would just pluck him from his piteousness.
Prayers answered,
The parson saved,
And a parable for all he became.