I stood between black and white,
Not a prophet, not a ghost in the night.
My words were not sent from the skies,
But carved from pain, from unheard cries.

I thought the war chose me for a name,
That maybe I was called to rise from flame.
That maybe this voice was more than mine—
A whisper divine, a holy sign.

But silence answered every plea,
No angel came to speak to me.
And yet, the silence taught me more
Than any myth or tale of war.

I am no savior, no guiding light,
Just a soul who survived the night.
And in that truth, I found my ground—
No need for thrones, no trumpet sound.

My freedom came when I let go
Of needing more than I could know.
Between black and white, I found my shade:
A human heart, no longer afraid.