Why Even Look Poem by Richard Goolsby

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.