The castle`s master was quiet and young
He sang rhythms with gracious weapons,
He mastered the land and the servants.
The word had his own simple purpose:
he worked his land and he built his own idea.
When imminently everything happened.
Ripped with the ax, mangled
of corners and edges of meanings
he entered coma and he died.
Grammar moves and weddings with living and dead
were turning mazy in folk dances.
From the background, the landlord was continually singing its eternal rhythm.

The night in vail of nostalgia was seducing the stars
when the werewolf was playing not to feel
late hours, moonlight
all laying in the shadows.
He was very sad and unborn in the world
even though he thought he was dying,
even though he thought he was disappearing.
He was anemic of spirit and hate.
Hand in hand paralyzed by care he arrived at the doctor:
He swallowed avidly and with elation in his self
Vitamins with gods and neological heroes. Why
didn`t his head give birth to Athenas? Why
Didn`t hoofs of Minotaur grow yet?
Why was he walking on the same soles scratched in stones?
Scraped in thistles or in white like snow bones?
He had melted his own lips to breathe Past,
when he breathed but air, silently.

Vampires and Zamolxis and Dacians and Romans
has been injected through perfusions.
The werewolf unrolled himself in un words
trickled in the row beads` folk songs.
Being blind since the night of absent moons
His fingers learnt only Braille,
On a cloth where points are needles
and the light pierce through
the embroidery with red and yellow and blue,
with flowers of faith, belief, hope and love.

He learns to learn the color of sun
from immortal sound and legends
in the castle of the reborn meaning.

The landlord walks through everything even now.
Old and quiet when will he learn Braille?