There are angles

There are angles.
Obtuse and perpendicular,
Where the wind carves.
Abutments and deep ravines,
That never quite heal,
But bear their torments from the harshest gales.

For the deepest cuts,
Are found in the gentlest hands.
And soft words
Slice the last remnants
Of dignity.
Laying them at their feet,
Writhing in the shame
Of fear and neglect.

And still they see the better part.
Cloaked in the reprehensible.
Loitering with intent,
Lost in the never lands,
Confusing pain and love.
Becoming a caricature
Where the grotesque
Is believable.

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