Twelfth.

A flame flickers, but tells the night;
Her darkness isn't anymore a fright.
But it fears its plight in the daylight bright,
As to whom it'll prove however hard its might.

Nothing is itself without the being of an opposite,
So its not about the wrongs and nor their rights;
We fight for the side that we belong to,
But exist in the grey between the blacks and their whites.