Poetry

A silence speaks up at ungreen 
age for an unknown, finding 
dark matter in hiddenness 
of sleazy light. 
 
A dove in the valley of tulips 
stops a flight for a wayfarer. 
 
What was that persisists, in envioronment and bunkers? 
 
Queen bee will decide for a spliced 
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup. 
 
The stings were the torchbearers. 
 
A smile comes out with a walker. The 
vitals were dysfunctioning. 
The end does not need any comma.