You a haven...

Sometimes
You arrive
Touch wood
Haven of Peace like...
As if
A haven felt
Only
Not to be expressed...
As if
Holding on to divine bless
And
Inexpressible
A mellowed treble
But bass
Strong
Like a gong...
Awakening
Sombre
Solitude
Which
Once
That man at Tintern Abbey
Wrote
Pure
Molten
A journey
From
Childhood to adolescence
Back to childhood...

Sometimes
Afternoons
Be
Such
A sage
Sitting
At a cave
Upfront
A smouldering shape...
Saffron
Ascetic
A chosen fate...

That man
At a prelude
Saw that shape
Forming
Before
Evaporating...

Some
After
Of noons
Are like that...
A journey
Kind-
Reaching straight
To Your golden
Reddened orangy gate...