I was a man at seventeen,

a dreamer.

  I stood tall and smiled,with my hair ever-so slightly styled.No tears, no weeping, thought I was smart, that the whole world was sleeping.  I'm eighteen now, no longer a man.I'm a recondite boy, without a plan.I do cry, and I do weep, most definitely at night, the moments of eternal pain and no sleep.   There is new light.As a boy, I'm no longer smart nor stern,I still just have so much to learn.Even though there are tears and weeping,I'm now just a recondite boy,no longer the man that couldn't experience joy.