D.E. Poem by Barry Middleton

As near as I could tell
with youthful wisdom,
men fear two things.
First there are other men,
and probably could be first,
unavoidable circumstance.
D.E. was both in childhood days,
a man and yet a colder thing,
a symbol of evil in a blond world,
a lesson that there are things unknown
and better left un-investigated.
My older brother found the knife
back near the backside of our property.
Not an old and rusty tool,
no mind you,
but only tinged by one day's dew,
a hot trail.
On its pearly side a diamond plaque
was double traced and within that tracing
an enigmatic inscription was engraved,
the letters D.E.
A man,
an unknown intruder into our lives,
defiled our tabernacle,
came into our sacred woods
where each hill and hammock
had a holy name and almost every tree.
He had come in darkness,
alone and demon-like,
carrying a rude weapon
snatched from his hand
by guardian angelic forces.
His intent could not have been good.
And so,
when a voice came through the wood,
we ran.
The world was no longer safe
with a man like this on the place
consorting with the devil.
There was no defense
against this profanation.
We knew he held an evil power
and though months would pass
without a broken twig or footprint
to speak of his presence,
it was always there.
We knew he might step forth
at any moment
from the bowels
of some great, hollow beech
and take us in our innocence.
We would never forget
the unseen terror
of his circumstance
and my father
would always
keep the knife.