Sonnet

My heart has spoken.
Seek his face.
Hidden deep in our consciousness is his token.
As delicate a trace as lace.

The only thing that really does matter.
What happens after death to our consciousness.
In my dream I saw it as a definite object that cannot shatter.
In capable of descending into final darkness.

We are all children of light.
Everyone we meet in supermarket or street.
Is forever in his sight.
Yes, everyone however unlikely, we meet.

This picture of the conscious seemed utterly separate from my body.
Incapable of a permanent home in anything so shoddy.

Haiku

Consciousness is
Incapable of being
Always of the flesh