The discovery of bog bodies is
remarkable-
life trapped in liquid silence for
centuries,
frozen in the moment that they were thrust
into the stillness-
last meals intact within their bowels,
final facial expressions worn like a solemn mask-
there they rest,
nestled within the peat-
encapsulated in that cold and suffocating black
space,
cast violently into the unknown,
and entombed among the secrets of their
lives-
their purpose,
identities,
their names,
their meaning reduced to a shriveled pile of
skin and bones and hair-
their joys, sadness, and their triumphs
lost and scattered amid the sediment-
undisturbed and forgotten,
and stumbled upon purely
by accident-
they become unidentified remains,
their graves, unmarked pools-
under the scrutiny of strangers, they sit-
displayed, studied, and stored away-
an anonymous pile of bones, and skin,
and hair-
thrust into stillness,
scattered hopes strewn and lost within
the sediment-
it has to be assumed that those lives
had merit-
what song do their souls sing?*