silent suburbia

father time and mother earth are resting in this moment; the clouds have paused their torrent of white, the moon has spread its glow like iridescent butter on a midnight snack upon the silver, cotton pastries. wicked dreams visit them of daylight’s endurance hindering for a moon phase over again and a chill lasting as long as her wilting lungs beneath those strained breasts can exhale. i’m one pious soul in this world of murderous cogs my lady and man, can you repay me and display your worth to the rest as you spare us the peril of your decline, though we’ve tipped the arrowhead in poison (60,000 years), and to you and all that sprout from you and have returned to your roots?