the oyster shell on ocean bottom lay,
hid from the nets of a thousand divers;
in obscure light hiding, in obscure bay,
the obscure pearl no entrance offers.
escape from prison was a journey in fire;
white sun blanched white burning land;
there had been no time to stock water;
twice dead men fell dead in desert sand.
they had planned their ascent in spring
and mapped path with meticulous care,
anticipating every possible thing -
the rumble of avalanche split the air.
every summit is obscured by cloud;
all paths entered by way of shroud.
Comments about this poem (Sonnet 31 by doug bentley )
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