It is a tunnel of long ends both in dimension and scope. It is a long darkness that is neither in shape nor in complexity. What is traveling through this tunnel of long kisses of sweet lips is a melody of feeling.
I see something that is an entity by itself. It is an entity of fractured fruitarians of thoughts that have an identity. But they cannot identify what kind of identity they have, or what they have that possesses beauty and height. But they know that they are very beautiful and they are long like a kiss, strident like a tunnel, and dark like a long wait of forever. But as we know that a kiss is sweet, and the lips are melodious; both in cry like a lamb but also dark as a tunnel that has no end to simplicity. This tunnel is a long silence to that kiss that is long and sweet like the lips of tomorrow. But it still wants an identity; both as a tunnel and as a kiss that will be known to it and accepted as beautiful by it as an author of its identity.
Through this long wait of tomorrow with the rays of the sun appearing and talking of truth that is sought and only known, the only sound heard is that of a lamb, silent and strident like a long wait of forever. It is a silence of both dreams that do not stand together but feel that they are of one. They cannot claim why they know they are of one because they cannot hear anything except silence of the lambs. They cry from far and the sound is lonely to the plain that only witnesses their pain and loneliness. They are silent and the kiss is long but the tunnel is dark with wanted wear in cloth of that silent plain as a witness to the cry of identical differences. By the rays of thought to this sensation that is a melody to that long plain that witnesses the light from these lambs that cry like these long kisses; I find that the tunnel is both in sweetness and in want. As a perilous wait of the rays to appear and proclaim the wonder and tears of this seemingly long kiss and dark rays in the tunnel, the wait is long but sweet in worth. It is a patience of a long side kick that is not in fight but in wonder and worth. But the wait of them kisses and tunnels is perilously long and cruel as it does not grant truth that is sought by the two dreams. It may of learning and talent. But it is still of kisses and rays. The silence of the lambs is heard even by those who are ignorant of the fact that beauty is sought in long tunnels of fame; and in dreams.
As I crawl to this identity that is sought still by the kiss and the rays of the sun; I find that the only miracle is to find the locations of my start. I already know that I am good at what I do but I need to find a strident wait of a kiss that will be quiet and slick like a wait of tomorrow. The faces seen in front of me are of those who are sweet in worth but impatient in pertinence. The sound is still there and I wonder in merit whether they can hear it or the face seen that looks exactly like mine can in melody say what I feel. I do not want to impart what my thoughts travel through when I sit alone at night looking at the rays from the stars that sit quietly like a pool of kisses that do not talk. Does feeling have a sound? Does a kiss in stand equal a tunnel of creation that impelled the formation of that kiss itself? Is a kiss of love or lust?
I keep crawling to this sensation of kisses and rays; I look up and see the wings of forever flying high below me, above the stars. I look down to see this kiss as a smile from one who is as beautiful as sweetness itself. She demands my attention; she wants my mouth, and she feels love towards self. She is mumbling flat puddles of love from the lips of a toddler who is learning to walk, but a kiss is sweet and cannot be taught. Forever is long but the height of life cannot be measured by how many people you have slept with, but how many hearts you have touched – and kissed. I look at this window pane of thought and find that a kiss is as strident and as powerful as love itself, and the tunnel is as bold as the rays of the sun. We all crawl through forever but stand as we brace a kiss that is long and perilous in worth and wait. And the puddles of light from the tunnel to the kiss from this window pain of knowledge do not seem real at first, but they do with these kisses that appear long and wasted. But are they truly wasted? They are perilous and beautiful as they keep that cry of the lambs that is akin to the silence of a kiss. And we wonder still if we can find truth from this tunnel to the stars that wait for us to stand and bold the rays of light to the stars. And the kisses that we give through life can never be wasted, the journeys through tunnels can never be forgotten and lips will forever be melodious.
The lambs stand and hear the words as they echo down and deep in the pool of them stars that cry the same song of want and wait. But one can never wait too long for forever is here and the attention of this silence of the lambs is deafening. Through trying and with the tears flowing down the puddles of our panes we find the truth; and the truth is a long kiss between the tunnel and the melodies of our truest selves. We need to find the mark of our start and move from there. But time is strident and the wait too painful but with long kisses between, we will get where the sought was justified. It is a long wait but the lips are forever wet and the darkness in the tunnel echoes the same songs of a long kiss and powerful melodies that need our attention. It is a long wait and a long kiss before truth gets here. And today we know that feeling has a voice, and a face that is a kiss long enough to emulate forever – dark with long cries of the lambs.