The Riddle Of Love Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka

My Love never hears my pain so off to play
and write more riddles… poems left unread!
Voices echo through my words each day
resounding issue just of poet dead.

Before the sun awakes I rush from bed
and fill long hours playing longer still,
this play that continues, without, instead,
permits love to toy with heart or will.

The hour's burden, having now to fill
acts with no end, dramas cast with one role:
bewitching love with sets conceived by quill,
yearnings in prose, scenes mine, staging by soul.

My play's the issue now, partly in lieu
of issues due to Love, time says is due.