(A poem dedicated to my 10-year-old son on breaking the concrete brick on his Tae-kwon-do back belt test. It describes the minute in time when he has to break the brick to earn his black belt.)

Slender frame,

Bony Hands,

Mischievously wicked face,

Logic & Meaning,

Touched Perceptions,

Enraptured mind,

Looking, searching

Dancing randomly.

Hands waving,

Strange & curious,

Rhythmic fusion,

Nonsense to others,

Music to him.
All comes together,

When purpose runs into him.

Challenges him to a path-

For a moment.

Slender frame is strong,

Bony hands become a scythe,

Face now contorted in singular sight.

Mind now stops searching,

Looks only ahead,

Random contortions morph,

Into a strange rhythm.

Sing-song turns into a scream

Poised, ready to cut –

Its purpose right ahead.
A single moment passes,

Then –

The loud scream,

The 1st step taken,

The hand rises as a scythe

Containing all the power

Of his entire frame,

Moves down in a blur,

Hard to capture by the lazy eye.

Hand, body, foot, voice –

All hit together, its purpose –

The brick in front.

Break it in a single powerful impact.

It’s done. He is now complete.

The dancing boy,

Earns his plaudits, resumes –

Mischievous wicked face, random dancing contortions,

Bony hands dance with the strange sing-song.

Purpose now waits in a corner,

Waiting for its moment again –

There will be time again,

He is a mere boy.

– Now just again a dancing boy.

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