Valiant Scribe
A literary hub giving voice to the voiceless by retelling the human experience

Here dies a son of sun and sand, who sailed the sea to sow strange soil. You mouth your thoughts, fingers twitching words in air, as you watch your blood feeding the earth, watering the tomato vines. L'or rouge des Pouilles. Leur or est rouge de notre sang.

The little girl and the old man connected Only by the way the water sagittated glass shards Into smooth crystal over long decades How could they know, someday, they would both Be ankle deep in the same river?

That difficult conversation you dread? It is good practice for more. That excruciating situation? Same.

Marriage does not deputize a spouse to carry another adult’s sin, addiction, or dysfunction. And yet, for years, that’s exactly what it felt like I was supposed to do.