Sweet And Sour Hope Poem by Dennis Lange

Hope is the distant moon that tugs the ocean's tender heart,
That draws the tides to swell the shore with skill of Siren's art.
Once it's removed, it brings release; the tides go back to sea,
And all that's left upon the shore is scattered, sad debris.

But there are times when rising tides, coaxed by Hope's constant call,
Will lift a grounded ship that's caught by storm or sudden squall.
Hope then is like the ship that now will reach its destiny.
It brings a sailor home at times, fulfills expectancy.

Hope's in the smell of cooking food, as one steps through the door:
It smells like this, a bit like that; anticipations soar.
And then, hopes like dessert, that's said to be a lemon pie.
Hope soars until it comes - dark green; hope sours then to die.

Hope is a sweet vanilla in the still-expectant air,
But vinegar when dashed, and dreams go crashing in despair.
Hope is a door that swings upon the hinges of the mind.
Sometimes it's cruel and causes dread; at others, it is kind.