The Rising Sun

It is said it is darkest before dawn,
A blackness as death that covers the land.
Grabbing every corner,
Every side that it ensnares in darkness.
I heard it boast,
That faint whisper in the wind.
I have not been beaten it said,
Not even since the beginning of man.
The darkness could see all that its deathly fingers could touch,
But never what waited around the corner,
Or the coming day.