AND THOSE WHO COULD NOT BECAME KINGS

He sat down and smashed the bottle.
The liquid dictionary ran from his brain
Like a fountain of arterial blood
Something undoubtably vital.
But only to him.
He saw things differently after that day,
As if the sky'd turned rage green with his envy
Of the eloquence so brightly and effortlessly
Paraded past him in sweet elevation.
Those men who could talk had their tongues cut out.
And those who could not became kings.