"In the velvet hush of starless night..."

In the velvet hush of starless night, where shadows cling like whispered woes,

I paint the black with stories bright, of heroes forged in burning throes.

No brushstrokes sing of placid skies, but battles fought on fields of bone,

Where courage danced with tearful eyes, and freedom's seed was hard-sown.

On Thermopylae's defiant stand, three hundred met the Persian tide,

A crimson scarf across the land, their sacrifice forever tied.

Joan of Arc, a flame-kissed maid, in armor forged of fervent prayer,

Led armies on, unafraid, a beacon in the smoke-filled air.

From Selma's bridge, a hymn of hope, against the serpent's hate unwound,

King's dream took flight on every slope, where chains of silence lay unbound.

Through Berlin's wall, a hammer's clang, cracked open freedom's long-sought prize,

And Mandela's song, forgiveness sang, as rainbows arched across the skies.

The black still holds the sting of loss, the echoes of defeat's despair,

But in its depths, a fiery cross, shines bright, a testament to dare.

For even when the night seems long, and hope a whisper on the breeze,

These embers whisper in our song, of valor won in fierce unease.

So let us paint the black anew, with threads of courage, bold and bright,

And write our own sagas true, where darkness surrenders to the light.

For in the heart where embers sleep, a revolution yet can start,

To etch on history's deepest steep, a tale of bravery in the dark.