Baby Teeth
In the black night’s shrouded core,
Laughter ended, sighs no more.
A horse’s skull with teeth worn thin,
Hides a secret deep within.
From a hollow once a tooth,
Sprouts a tree of divine truth.
Born of bone and burnt despair,
A spectral dirge hangs in air.
Each infant, like a twisted root,
With face as dark as sunless soot.
Their silence not of peace, but dread,
A mute lament for words of dead.
In its depths, two horrors meet,
A skull-worn path, a child’s defeat.
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