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

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

I sit on the trees in the middle of the nights, Looking at the stars and northern lights. I see in the dark, the reality of life;

I grew up thinking My suburban life Filled with liberal minds And high-minded rhetoric Had taught me all I needed to know But you cannot...

I should go to bed before it gets light, but there are things which bother me at night One of them is hunger - we are short of food,...