(0) Pandora's Hope Poem by Sailing to windward

What's expected of this thing called hope;
is it a medicine; is it just smoke?
Merely a screen - perhaps a misty haze,
to sweeten our journey around life's maze?

Is faith a hope, divinely inspired
which the faithless maintain is not required?
A sin maybe, to be kept in a box;
an evil, a tyrant - a deadly pox?

Empty, hope against hope, false or forlorn;
are these mere illusions; a child stillborn,
or a crutch, a bridge, a sweet panacea,
to deal with our angst and eternal fear?

Sometimes described as mother of rumour,
seen by others as father of humour,
but what is the truth of hope's rightful place,
in the future life of our doubting race?

With all evils but hope freed to the air
our good world was lost to grief and despair.
Pandora at last leased hope from its ties,
allowing the world to live with its lies.

For without hope, love lies repulsed, denied,
life soon becomes sour, withered and dry
Hope and love remain, forever entwined,
enshrined in faith for all mankind