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

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

Meth, opioids, other street drugs claim a spot on the pavement, offering communion with the concrete, the dark like a stern overlord,

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.