I knew a boy who was

encouraged to think by one,

discouraged by another.

He chose the first path, choosing

Theater, not science;

Leader, not follower;

Wanting to shape his own destiny,

unwilling to have it shaped by another.

His English teacher asked him to think

wanting him to discover life's beauty

promise

dreams of glory

of being unique.

His father tried to force him into the mold of

the perfect son:

never complaining,

never questioning.

The boy found his dream

for but a single evening ,

Tried to make a father blind to dreams

see his need.

Despairing, he shot himself

leaving an infuriated bureaucracy

wailing parents

mourning teacher and friends.

The bureaucracy needed a scapegoat for the tragedy

and found one in the gentle teacher.

The teacher was fired, but before leaving

he was saluted by his

loyal students

who called him Captain,

even by one who had been

wishy-washy

before his friend's death.

"Dead Poets" made me do many things:

think

laugh

cry

shout out against injustice

add another poem to the world.

Will you, too, join the

"Dead Poets Society"?

Even the good introduction-writing doctor

would think highly of it;

It has a purpose

It has import

But it is so much more than that.

Like a poem, the total is greater than the sum of

its parts.

You can only

experience

feel

think for yourself.

Will you, too, join the

"Dead Poets Society"?