Blocks of polished, black marble hauled by an endless procession of silent figures -
Who, guided by assumptions and rhetoric,
Mistook the blindfold as a gift from the insightful libertarian.
Wordlessly, they built the turret around the child.
The towering walls subtly adorned with a decoupage of lies,
That mirrored the litany of grievances chastising her intellect.
She watched, eagerly at first, as the figures began to recognise her presence -
Realising, too late, that they saw no reason to place a ladder within her reach.
The barren soil, cultivated by the disregard each stonemason had allowed to flourish,
Swallowed and gulped at her tears, leaving her soul weak.
Unbarred, the window taunted her with laconic persistence.
"Break free, break free," myriad incantations, worthless without the means.
Rapunzel waited, but none that she saw stopped.
They looked, and contemplated, but walked on -
Hoping that as a distance grew between their heels and the moral burden,
Responsibility would fade.
The air around grew silent as people ceased to pass by.
It was the window who continued to beckon -
A haunting dirge that mocked with an unyielding lucidity.
Over time, the masonry's edge grew jagged and notched.
An understanding burgeoned within and prompted swift movements -
Lest her courage should retreat and leave her truly lone.
She tore her braid, back and forth - across the lip of the fortress,
Separating her hair from the nape of her neck.
The loosened tendrils offered footholds to soil
That had grown salty and wretched under a torrent of anguish.
"Get out, flee, be gone," emancipation solicited with enthralling force.
It was only as she looked around, relishing her new found freedom,
That Rapunzel saw that she was not alone.
Forming a desolate quadrangle, in conjunction with her prison,
Were three other, identical minarets.