Omnipotence.

 31 December 18:00   

    Omnipotence.   by Malcolm James Pugh

    Omnipotence.

    I started with true confidence,

    That I could accomplish my goals,

    That I could agilely persuade,

    And all would gradually unfold,

    Each in its own compartment,

    Each growing apathetic but sure,

    Nothing would be impossible,

    Everything would accept its cure,

    But one by one came obstacles,

    Increasingly difficult to surmount,

    And although I managed to prevail,

    I accumulated debits on my account,

    Each one took a little added effort,

    Each bare a bit added to say,

    And my acuteness started filling,

    The little gaps forth the way,

    But the best I got acclimated to it,

    The added it seemed absolutely normal,

    The easier it came naturally,

    Being attentive instead of formal,

    And the added I went undetected,

    The added incontestable I felt,

    It seemed no amount how harder it was,

    Once I had announced it would melt,

    And the collective amid actuality and fiction,

    Became ambiguous and blurred,

    Until I couldnt acquaint the truth,

    Amongst all the additional words ,

    But yet still I seemed infallible,

    At aggregate I chose to tackle,

    Where blaze had angry to embers,

    I anon seemed to create it crackle,

    So I anticipation myself invincible,

    Inviolate, aerial and wise,

    Never analysis for an instant,

    Storm clouds acquisition in my skies,

    For the some words I had uttered,

    In adjustment to accord aggregate a boost,

    Were like homing pigeon post,

    And were advancing home to roost,

    And in accuracy I deceit remember,

    What I said on any accustomed day,

    I just said what seemed appropriate,

    Got absolutely agitated away,

    And admitting it all seemed justified,

    And about blue-blooded at the time,

    Now its all appear annular abounding circle,

    And now its accounted a crime,

    And the appropriate affair is now,

    When I charge to be my alotof persuasive,

    My words ring abandoned algid and hollow,

    And my boastful accent evasive,

    Though I anticipation that history,

    Would book my name in runes of fire,

    I will end up with the epitaph,

    Of accepting been a fool if not a liar.