He is a rollercoaster. Twist and turns run in conjunction with one another in a jungle of winding paths and different roads. Up, down, left, and even right, he glides with light wings in the free skies of life, not restricted by the horizon, but rather using it as a waypoint.
This man, Dimitri, is the captain of his ship and cruises it through still waters and rough currents, jaded by the water’s cruel pathways yet hopeful of the future. He is the calm river and the salty spray of an angry sea. On his face are wrinkles that resembles lightning from the storm cloud of still rage that is his face. He is the master of his own destiny, the king of his castle, ruler of his lands, god of his dreams. He did not back down, no, for he is the sun that shines over the bountiful lands that is his life, and with it the fruits of prosperity and intellect grow and take root, the crops more plentiful than ever before. He harvests them and plants new seeds to grow, to become stronger, to take root and showcase his true strength. The fisherman and the farmer, they are he and he is they. and with both professions he conquers the battlefield of life with stubbornness and a vigor unbeat.
The whole world is just one large desert, a wasteland without substance. Humans are oases, but many are dried up and dead. His, however, is large and abundant in life. Truly it is a grand site, with food in plenty, with animals scurrying in every corner, and with the sun shining down with a warm light. He smiles, the water of the oasis lapping at the desert sand so that it could invigorate and perhaps even breathe life into it. He blows harder, kicking up dust until a tornado breaks out, still casting out breaths to make life breathe easier.
He is often like this. A caring mother with her cub, even if that cub is not his own and he himself not a mother. But he cares for them still. He rips out his heart and tears it to small bits, passing or distributing them out to those barren. It does not hurt him, for the thought of helping others makes his heart regrow each time.
From the raging inferno of the farthest volcano to the turbulence of a hurricane his inner self hides behind the summer grasslands that are blessed with the coolness of spring prior. Hot and cold, much as the deep undersea vents that spew out unprecedented amounts of heat while surrounded by the icy chill of the ocean floor. They are two in one, but still whole to stand tall as the mountain in the path of his life and soar on the wings of destiny to a better tomorrow where he can still be his own master and his own person without the weights of the future holding him down.
Across the barren fallow lands he is cracked and downtrodden, waiting for the life-giving rains to soothe his craggy surface. Only now do the thunderstorms form, but not a drop falls on his tongue. He waits, knowing one day the sun shall rise and him with it, chasing his destiny along with the promise of a future with unlimited possibilities.