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

I asked a lonely grape-vine, “Are you bearing sweet fruits even now, in war time?”

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.

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.

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?

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.

The fire nearing a small town where they had friends, consisting of more ancient homes, rickety cabins than sturdy recently built structures. Panicked pounding on the door made him jump.

The breath of innocents must become our guide— our only guide through death and life’s uncertain tides. That breath leads us to distant places, to wonder at the rolling skies where the mystery of our heart lies.

“Ms. Stafford,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry to startle you, but they told me at the hospital that you found me that morning and called for the ambulance. You saved my life. I wanted to stop by to thank you.”

I am flawed and imperfect imbued with conflicting emotions with extreme polarities in thought my anxieties instill fear and my fear breeds anxiety

What draws people together? What splits them apart? Shared experiences, common viewpoints – Shamed experiences, hurtful misconceptions.

And since she had started her ritual of gratitude, she felt compelled to thank others as they welled up in her still sleepy mind. After all, how often had she ever done this, and who knew what was next?

We could be at peace and yet we fashion battles, for who can gaze in silence at the sun and be content for long?

Before got chances to Prance/grab diploma… During youthful days’ Feckless certain look

Artificial intelligence now confronts us with the same lesson in compressed form. The danger is not malevolence, but moral weightlessness

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...

Feeding the youth with the milk of deception, Grooming them to believe the world owes them. They hold the world at ransom...

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