Good Will Hunting

A Brawl Behind the Wires

On the grit‑wrought tiles of Boston’s youth,
A boy learns that the mind is a battlefield,
And every scar is both a bullet and a truth,
A dark‑threaded dream that he must unseal.

He’s caught between chalk and calculus,
Between a world that knows no artiste,
And a therapist who softly asks,
Tell me why you fear your own heart’s taste.

The walls of the university maze,
Echo with lauds and quiet rage,
His genius, a secret well‑sealed,
His trauma, the name without a title.

With each think, think, think! he heals a bit,
The mentor’s wisdom cuts like a hit,
Chaps and beloveds stretch the line,
And the boy says, “I’m stuck on the climb.”

A quiet humour, raw and heart‑sharp,
The film a word‑for‑word map,
Of loyalty, pain, and a love that lifts –
The odd‐ball science of our own will.