i am sullied no more

wandering in and out of night and day,
ever moving away from pieces of dried out paintings hung precociously out of line with space and time, giving them this floppy look like dali.
dread and unfulfilled expectation flying away,
playing harmonies like melody accompanying handel's messiah,
aria after aria of beautiful rapture wherein we find ourselves again.
flooding banks of emotions that were left back then, left there to air out in the sun.