Past down from father to son,
They taught with discipline what had to be done.
Through holds, grappling, and form,
They focused their energies in a body storm.
Unleashing power with every blow,
They studied to fight and some for show.
Each had there own way to inflict pain,
But it was the teaching that kept them sane.
The focus to understand what the body can do,
Searching inside as to what is true.
Masters at such deadly art would excel like none before,
Knowing at the real prize in the core.
For it was peace that was the quest for wise,
Others it was their ego that sought their demise.
I remember one master's words that came to pass,
Be like water for it takes any form even glass.
