This is a relatively old poem of mine which boasts my first use of the title "Spiral Road." I don't normally write poems at all, more short fiction, but this one's theme/subject matter seems appropriate for getting things rolling.
Spiral Road
by Max D'Ambrosio
The Helix woven through us wakes
And scents the flowing line. Observe:
Affinity for all that’s curved
Along the path the Spiral takes
The path ahead is broad and smooth
Meandering roots in parallel
Where either route will serve you well
Like tour guides in the Louvre
And as the warmth and wonder flow
We think that it’s the happy middle
Though our doubts can always whittle
At the base of Spiral Road
It branches off and spreads new wings
The curling split-hairs flying free
A fine engraving of a tree
Depicted at the birth of Spring
And on this tree we are the vines
Some are leaves and some are runners
Forging forward past the Summer
Leaving leaves in safer climes
In places where the change is slow
And rarely can be truly free
Natural though it may be
For those more keen to grow
We find our handholds on the slope
And coil our fingers round them fast
To stop our Fall into the past
And probe ahead in stubborn hope
With Winter waiting, far a-field
But pushing at us from behind
Though sometimes out of sight and mind
An old wound, long since healed
As all turns gold and orange, then grey
With violent, lusty, rusty hues,
But knowing this, we all still choose
To scramble onward anyway
Such scar-lines are familiar to
All creatures that use chromosomes
To merge or separate their homes
Unite, then split in two
And yet, the trails that we all follow
Often lead toward dead-ends
We’re told by smug, insistent friends
That death is best, the journey hollow
Stories told by brutish men
Who tempt the young with song and dance
To follow them, and take the chance
That glory waits for them
As necrophilia dodges censure,
Never asking “what” or “why,”
We’d rather stare into the sky
And say it holds the answer
We should still look there, to be sure
But truth’s more likely to be found
By searching side-to-side, or down
Despite the clouds’ allure
To branches reaching for the sun
Neglecting water from below
And either side, where neighbours grow
Distinct as trees – as forest, one
One world, from one great line of code
Yet broken into curves and rings
The trunks of trees cut down in Spring
All diagrammed by Spiral Road
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