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

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.