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

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.

I have danced to the crashing wave’s defiant beat With each step, I roar against the storm's wild retreat This is what it means to be me

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

Mama, do not weep for the flower that withered in the cold, for I have bloomed anew

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

A crow’s distant cawing Gives voice to solitude Worn like a thorny cloak And mocks that final promise

We all struggle through life just trying to get by. We are all human, we are all sinful, and we are all innocent.

Midnight, screeching vehicles — School girls, screaming — to a truck                       abduction here, cyber fraud there—no jail time.

sitting in this soft world to listen my senses draw inward bringing a blanket of quiet under a night sky...

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

An adjective people throw around when feeling energetic or unfocused. A joke for most is a reality for me.

I walked where Passenger trains Carried lives and Their once warm, Now cold, dreams And I was part of Each life, now gone To ether and mist

as we kickboard our lives across imaginary lines our hearts tied up in plastic bags drifting out to sea.

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.

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.

shallow breathing - high piercing sirens screech in the streets - crouching shoulders - whispers - fences keeping enemies of the state in -

The clouds above you form as the moon rises, you try to give them a sense of purpose, you know that the messenger with the bad news won’t...