Evening Prayers- poem, (not literally- that's another site)

Evening Prayers

It is a strange jolt in a fearful crowd,
When all at once your childhood face appears,
And so I recall mine, when she said to me
That I must clasp my hands and unfasten my ears,
And listen, for the sharpest of vacillating whispers
Behind the electrical murmurings of the streets below. I.

And so in that certain darkness of a child's small room
The cornered light rested still in the air,
Like the unassailable line in a Christmas card
While a tiny soul was kneeling there
And its jaw was set in clenched might
To a wince and a frown, nose to hand,

So she said to me then, if you could only listen
You will hear him, like the undisputed buzz
In a nightly silence, but my words fell like a hundred thuds
To no reply at all. And instead came that throaty heat
before the tears, and the sinful feeling of a lie,
Trying to swallow itself treacherously away.

It was so then, in the honesty of a child?'s few walls.
And what more do we ever know than that,
When we are searching, bare and honest,
Only aching, unto the night.