Temple of the Seven Dolls
In steamed oppressive heat and vined morass,
Across subtropic copse of Yucatan,
Parrots whisk in raspy crying pass
Where ruins of an ancient city stand.In tangled root, the pyramidal shapes
Attest to strength of mythos undisclosed;
Long through the Spanish plunders and the rapes
The Temple of the Seven Dolls imposed.What ancient Mayan communality,
In leagues of priest and acolytes assigned,
Raised these walls of stone intensity
And habited this corporate place divine?The Temple stands as monolith symbolic.
Through doorways, priests aligned the rise of night
And foretold fates. Now, no text historic
Reveals the words, intention, and the mightOf Mayan canon. In tacit liturgy,
The stones endure. How are we to grasp
The rites of seeding soil with blood's energy,
Saintly decapitations? Their primal pastIs not ours. And dare we tread exhumed
Temple where rituals abstruse were played?
In blood, fertility and prayer assumed
Albic purity. How can we invadeAnd understand? In rainy veil subtropic,
Long before the jungle overran,
Mayan mythos, humic-rich and omnific,
Embraced the earth in citadel of man.
- b g marcot
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