A pen dropped,

It made not a sound,

Drowned by the waves and the emotionally proud,

A scream rang out,

It's voice was not heard,

The likes of the broken understood are broken and ubsurd,

The nails have all rusted,

The wood lays arot,

The walls of the lord were plowed for the now abandoned parking lot,

The missing pride of millions, makes not a sound,

But the scream of the missing, never to be found,

Poverty powerful enough to tear the old church down,

Silence powerful enough to hush the boy who purposefully drowned,

Dimentia of the millions, 

Powerful enough to forget that poverty makes no sound.