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.
Comments about Thing They Call Love by Richard Goolsby
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.