British Soul

The skies of London are crying
Is it because she’s leaving?
Her hopes are dying
for now.
Perhaps it’s her crazy blind perspective on life
that makes that girl torn apart
to leave and rely on the ‘might’
for the future.

It wasn’t in her agenda
and nobody hears it but now
those emotions are screaming,
fantasizing and pleading
for her to turn back and stay. How?

In numbers,
seven hundred miles apart.
and five months away
from you London,
such a work of art.

She crumbles
under her imagination
or frustration?
What everything could be
is what she might never see.

As the buskers accompany
her journey to the airport,
she realizes she wishes
she’d rather lost her passport.
So she could stay just a bit longer.

Visit more local cafés
that smell more like a tea
than that bitter black drink.
One day she’ll be holding
a precious key
and call this city home,
that she’s sure of.

And until then?
What is the motive?
To reminisce about the pleasant,
admiring the brave girl,
and her new emotional present.

Don’t tell her yet as she may flee,
but she’s such a British soul
trapped in a Czech body.
Sometimes so carefree,
Tell her now and

she’ll be back in a heartbeat
since the streets of London
are her second home.