Ben Anderson

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The Tollund Man (Tortured Serenity)

Who is this man who lies in such tortured serenity?
A saint? A thief? An unlucky soul?
His face, a mix of peace and pain.
Do his thoughts still linger, etched in those lines of care,
Kept safe in the long memory of the bog?
The noose whispers only rumor,
His nakedness gives only pause,
His hat and belt, strange, perplexing questions.
Those who knew him are gone, but he remains,
And his countenance draws the eyes,
Stills the mind, and makes one stare in silent wonder.

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