The Crowded Pedastel

Upon the plain
of my imagination
looms a giant pedastel

It's crowded face
is shaded from the sun
by many standing feet
of my esteemed ones
Each noted for their own feat

I've been
a psycho believer
in so very many
men and women

Lately to find a way to safely
stand upon their shoulders
or just lifted up
away from rising floods
of preying waters

Below them are all black hatted fools
I hope
drown on their own fantasies
of spilled blood

If I should hope for deliverance
I must be lifted myself
by stronger shoulders