The Shift

I’m no expert on the rules
that govern tectonic shifts,
the rumblings of which are
felt by all and none.

I’m no hero that comes to
defend the masses, or rather,
comes to defend even one, for
I am afraid of all and none.

But whether or not I understand
or defend, the ground rumbles
and vibrations shiver beneath
our feat, planted firmly

and yet unstable. Desert people
can smell an earthquake from
miles away, the winds of change
stoking fires in our senses.

Escape is not promised, it is but
a chance, a coincidence, brushing
an insignificant few who can walk
through fire and fault lines.

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