Crises Clutches the Cradle

(this a very rough draft and is more of a high abstraction. It needs review.)
Crisis clutches the cradle

In a house where air flowed not through any vent but through every opened window,thick and oppressive. Not a bulb was lit nor were there burning candle wicks. Darkness flooded the house except the room where the half-moon’s light inquired. In this room, a trade off was made.
From the silk of the womb to wool of the world, the infant took well to his swaddling in the rough sense data that now grasped his being and contrasted with his prebirth phantasy. Now that the child had been born all that could be certain was his eventual death.
For the young father,29, meditating over the the calm infant, he came to understand his own position on the earth relative to his child’s. The man was at his Zenith, like a sun. He visualized the soul of his son just now rising in the East where it will make it’s climb in the dawn of youth, that Oriental process of constantly becoming ,the seemingly endless birth. Once the child reached the same Zenith the man was at he would begin his descent into the West where he will slip into the dusk of strife,that Occidental process of endless sobriety and the constant obsession over death and it’s aftermath.

The child, which had been calm and quiet at first, whimpered as his body met the grasping winds of Hunger,that winged entity that howls in the hollowness of the living. The boy recoiled and somehow fought the urge to screech like the stone cavity in a storm he felt he was. Over the stifled complaints the man suspiciously eyed the walls of the house.He knew that all about it the forces of debt and tax were mounting to sink the place into a deep chasm of which he would be a Troglodyte.

The Man's eyes of copper stared into the infants eyes of silver and flashed with a vow that he would lift the child from the tide of ignorance that lapped at the mortal mind and pry him from the jaws of scarcity that pushed the planet ever closer to oblivion's gullet. He'd do it even if he had to become one with the machines in metropolis or one with the war in apocalypse. Though a pious man, he'd sin for the boy with full knowledge that he was always under the grace of God,that immense universe of indifference towards human action.

The beam of the moon passed onto the bed in the left of the room from the center window.In it lay the mother who died having given all her sweat,blood and tears in labor.Raised from the cradle to see that destined for the crypt,the child wailed for his lost mother.The man pressed his head to the infants to form a proximity of their bodies befitting that of their souls and cried for the same thing.

Hello, I'm Moti. I liked this, you did an excelent job conveying emotion and thought without direct thoughts from the father. Nitpicks:
1. Words like zenith and occidental, I don't feel like they need to be capitalized.

2. Put a space after your periods. It should go "Sentence period space sentence"etc. This will make the piece flow better.

3. See above with commas.

Another thing I liked was that you used metaphorsto describe opposites between the son and the father. The story is moving and emotional.

I am somewhat speechless. This was an excellent piece.

In a house where air flowed not through any vent[,] but through every opened window,thick and oppressive.

This is a sentence fragment. Consider starting it with something like, "It was a house where air flowed not through any vent, etc."

Darkness flooded the house except the room where the half-moon’s light inquired.

This sentence reads a bit choppy. Consider revising.

In this room, a trade[-]off was made.

From the silk of the womb to the wool of the world, the infant took well to his swaddling in the rough sense data that now grasped his being and contrasted with his prebirth #FF0000 ">phantasy fantasy.

For the young father, #FF0000 ">29 twenty-nine, meditating over the the calm infant,

He visualized the soul of his son just now rising in the East[,] where it #FF0000 ">will would make it’s climb in the dawn of youth

Once the child reached the same Zenith the man was at he would begin his descent into the West where he will slip into the dusk of strife

I would suggest omitting 'the man was at,' because it bogs down the story flow, and is already implied in the overall sentence. Also, 'will' should be 'would,' as the rest of the story is in past-tense.

somehow fought the urge to screech like the stone cavity in a storm he felt he was.

Consider revising this, as it reads awkwardly. Example: 'like the storm-beaten stone cavity he felt he was.'

The #FF0000 ">Man's eyes of copper stared into the infant[']s eyes of silver

The man pressed his head to the infant[']s to form a proximity of their bodies

I agree with Moti; there should be spaces after your commas and periods. Otherwise, with was very well-written. You choice of words was stunning, along with the way you used such metaphors and similes. There was great emotion and obviously a lot of thought behind this. Well done, and keep up the good work!

In a house where air flowed not through any vent but through every opened window,thick and oppressive.

This is a poor start. It sets the story up so that this is happening in a house (instead of a particular house). Further, it kind of leaves the sentence hanging. Also, what the heck is in the house? The thing that is in the house is the subject of the sentence, but you never identify it (probably because you are too busy trying to be clever with adjectives.)

Darkness flooded the house except the room where the half-moon’s light inquired.

"Flooding" may not be the right verb. Flooding indicates motion and quantity. Darkness may have quantity, but it doesn't have motion (as opposed to moonlight, which can have both.) Moonlight doesn't really inquire though. Honestly, when was the last time you saw moonlight ask for anything? It can peek in through windows though.

From the silk of the womb to wool of the world, the infant took well to his swaddling in the rough sense data that now grasped his being and contrasted with his prebirth phantasy.

Silk of the womb? Rough sense data? The sentence has lost coherence.

It would seem that this piece is suffering from what is called "purple prose." Purple prose occurs when a writer uses so much ornate language (usually with the intent of impressing the reader) that their work becomes incomprehensible. You can try editing it, but it may be faster to rewrite it from scratch.