Tonya has never won a poetry contest or been published but she lost a lot to the Vietnam War: her favorite Uncle Bud, Wesley Homer Harris Jr. Her life was forever scarred.
PAIN OF THE INNOCENT
Well, here we are; it is September
No one can tell me why the jets fly over:
If they did, I don’t remember.
I hear talk of war,
But you see, I am only four.
My Daddy said good-bye, and walked out the door.
It has been a long time;
I sure do miss that Daddy of mine.
I turned five today,
A man in a uniform came to our door.
We listened to what they had to say,
There were bombs all around,
And my Daddy’s Company was no where to be found.
I looked at those men with tears in my eyes
Asking Why? Please tell me why.
… My Daddy had to die?
©Copyright 2002 by Tonya Carson
Author’s Note: Tonya has a son who rides bulls, writes for her local Gazette and sells Avon, but one night she sat down and, with words that just seemed to come from somewhere inside, wrote “Pain of the Innocent”