Sometimes you feel so far away, distanced from all the action of the play, unable to grasp significance, marking the plot with diffident dismay, stranded at centre stage, scrabbling through your diary for a lost page: unsure of the dream. Kicking a stone across the beach, aching for love and comfort out of reach, the way ahead seems to be so bleak, there's no-one with any friendship left to speak or show any relation between your present and future situations: lost to the dream. Away, away, away: look to the future day for hope, some form of peace within the growing storm. I climb through the evening, alive and believing: in time we shall all know our goals and so, finally, home. For now, all is secret- though how could I speak it, allow me the dream in my eye. I've been waiting for such a long time just to see it at last, all of the hands tightly clasped, all of us pilgrims...
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