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

Secondly, the rest of the children’s voices suddenly rose up and filled the room.  And then, John began to spin. 

Once again, it’s Christmas—the season of merriment, goodwill, and cheer. For most, it’s a time for family and friends, and a time to...

You call me your enemy, but you do not know me. my fears, mistakes, worries and woes strengths, courage, and resolve.

—it’s the pain of those unmet needs that exposes your claws and bares your teeth. Every fallen feather is a prayer—God, save this world.

we are children of a God who has given us everything we know and want, but don’t understand and so, I am a muddled and confused human

Words are not an action Nor downcast looks the heart of grief Whether in soul or transgressed body A warm embrace and prayer sincere

There has been harm in my story, and as in all good stories, an enemy lurking.  Sometimes we say, “I would not wish this on my worst enemy,”

Until then, I long for my father to find rest, to fly away on the wings of a dove,* which is perhaps masquerading as a crow...

They killed a man whose words still echo forgiveness in the spaces under the Walnut Street Bridge, even the unspoken ones they know not...

I wanted to leave this earth, join you and your son. You wanted nothing of it. Sent angels to rip up my passport, keep me in the country.

I am expatriate, my motherland, the one that birthed and then betrayed me, no longer my home. No songs of redemption, no longer

The forest never sleeps and also cries for redemption, the soul of the Amazon, the trees of life-giving air.

I’m sorry.  I didn’t recognize you, in the soiled coat and blue jeans, shuffling along the subway station, praying for money from heaven.

Can we exit this interlocked sequence of oppression and reflexive violence?

Becoming untouchable takes time. Start young. Instill quiet oppression. Reinforce the stakes, ignore the quakes, the terror. Regular...

I tell myself that compassion is my calling, and God will gather my fallen stories. He has given me a mother and friends who care about...

Our sons lived for five years in an orphanage in the rainforest of Puerto Maldonado, Peru after their biological parents died. When our...

Feather instead my wings. All the way home, over the streets, for here we are. In truth, none alone. Christ, O Truth, take my hand.

He stumbled much Always arose knowing Another enemy waited As the mother shed Her tears in solitude Seeing in him A heart as pure as

In solitude, I am at ease with myself, able to return to my spirit when it has been shaken bearing witness to the world. In solitude, I...