Elias Foukis

Rookie (20.08.1969 / Ioannina, Epirus, GREECE)

The Disappearance - Poem by Elias Foukis

Since I was away the previous century you disappeared
and no one was able to find you.

The explorers were trapped
by the metamorphosis of Breath into Fog...

Somewhere at the end of hope...they were persuaded that
either they were searching on an Earth without love
or that love on this Earth
was very dense.

In this boomerang of conjecture
you found the opportunity to move even further away.

Of course...without anyone bothering you
since even that smattering of birds
that might have been able to spot you
from the heights of their own Virtue
had never understood the language
humans speak...
or perhaps it has never been comprehensible.

And I am certain that you roam about on this Earth
which is either surrounded by nothing at all
or is surrounded by great speed
in order to catch the Ancient Rhythm
for the surrounding of the senses in the Soul.

And you again may find the opportunity to escape
especially now
for the Ancients have appeared on
on the stage of the Modern Era
as if confirming
the despairing truths about Idols
with their perpetual inclination
to bantering and tragic irony.

But whether they are blessed or cursed
you daydreamers out there
must get it through your head
that in this sudden Presence
there will be no miracle.

And the Ancients appear disappointed
not in the mood at all for a Renaissance.

It seems they have wearied of pursuing
Virtues and Conscience.

They were endlessly looking for ideal women
as they sought a peaceful catharsis
in their tragedies...
and the brilliant diamonds of desires
which they have imagined on the breasts of women
were transformed into tears of disappointment
by their admirers
when they saw their generosity and grandeur
being soiled on the corners of Athens
in pursuit of Mary Magdalene.

It happened later... MagdaleneÕs repentance.

But the Ancients and I
do not want to bow down quite yet
and hold our heads high.

But our eyes are riveted there
where Eve looked forward to the woman
who would be to her liking
so that waiting for her to come down
we have been left without Epoch.

This Epoch
has passed in your possession
and with it you will create
another Human History
which will be colonised by the Existence of Women
for the vilest taste...

And most important of all...
since the Earth
of that Human History
will have no trees
which you must bloody yourself in order to climb
to reach the Height of Female Love
and because of this serious lack of Ethos
the Height of the Feminine Ideal
will be even with the level of the ground.

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 11, 2012

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