Struggling to get this to Send....

Looking for Answers in a World of Woe
 
Tonight
—after Christmas and before New Year’s—
a light rain fell in snatches. We opened
the church door and joined a gathering
kin to small birds on tree branches.
 
A prayer list began to take shape
just as a young boy flew down the hallway
like a train streamlines past pedestrians.
 
I hurried his direction. He wanted answers.
“Our room is dark,” he said.
“Where is everyone?” My answer was ready.
He’d forgotten the announcement.
A little shrug. The boy’s eyes bore holes,
then he asked to play in the nursery.
 
Lincoln Logs mended everything.
With low, slow motions, the boy laid track
from zenith to horizon. “You are a fine builder,
a creator of beauty,” I declared. Smiling,
he showed me his overall design.
His excitement, like that of a poet
or painter using words and colors.
 
The boy put the toys away
then tore out the door, speeding
toward his mother, his other world.
 
In another room not far away—
a prayer.

Pat

The train energy is the poem (for me).  S4 is the money stanza.  It seems like the prayer meeting is backdrop to the action of the evening.  I wonder if that setting can be captured in the title and then subtly in the poem.

What if the boy become the metaphor for the meaning of the prayer meeting?

Todd

I agree with Todd. The fourth stanza really captured my attention. 

I don't know if I "get" the message you're trying to share, but I really liked hearing about the boy's train-like energy and his devotion to his designing and to his mother. I like the phrase "his other world." That tells me a lot about his age and his personality. He's a "mama's boy." The boy reminds me a lot of my preschooler.

I also like how you used "snatches" in the first stanza, (although I don't know if you plan to keep that detail). 

Excited to see what you do with the poem.

I will play with it.  Great input from each of you.  
Much gratitude.

Looking for Answers
 
Tonight
a light rain fell in snatches
as the people began to ask God
for big help.
 
Suddenly
a young boy flew down the hall
like a train streamlines past pedestrians.
 
The curious boy
gazed a long unknowing moment
then asked if he could play.
 
Lincoln Logs mended everything.
With low, slow motions, he
made engine noises and laid track
from zenith to horizon.
 
A song in the distance—
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound….
 
The boy put toys away
then tore out the door,
speeding toward his mother—
his other world.
 
Then
the drumming of a prayer,
sounding like babbles of a baby.