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

The river recovers and continues on it's way. It can be slowed but not stopped. The impounded water fills the valleys covering ghost towns wiped off the map.

Devoid of the hustle and bustle of life, Peace and serenity permeating all. Complete relaxation, not one hint of strife In this blessed place of those heeding the call.

The old man breathes deep and reminisces Sentimental for the smell of diesel and gasoline While they watch the bumblebees and the lovebugs Dance amidst the wildflowers; a cool summer night

I stand on the slab where long-dead people once slept I peer into the cracks widened by years of freeze-thaw cycles I see a lone ant carrying a tiny particle of food I pause and smile with the realization that life, ever so precariously, goes on.