Home Far Away

Where the moon rise
In that boulevard
the fireflies sing
of a thousand cries
Up here in the north
where city life din
of loud music
and muffled voices
Tug at emotions
The wind murmurs
My needs as fresh
dews in the morning
Smell of coffee
percolating, simmering
The beans grinding
its sweet, savory
Clouds of smoke
drifting, molding a face
of my yearning
For the road beside
The bedroom
Window is ailing
me to bare truths
I long to bathe in.