Thing They Call Love Poem by Richard Goolsby

Why do I even look,
For something that can't be found,
Something that everyone miss uses,
And tramples on the ground.

Its drug through the mud,
Its lied for personal gain,
Its a thing of the past,
Its caused so much pain!

I'm skeptic to if its even real,
Or if it a thing of the past,
One thing is for sure,
This day and age it don't last.

It supposed to be pure,
Like the heart of a dove,
Like new born for a mother,
This thing they call love.