the isolation somehow makes it more meaningful.
the tower she has built,
she has also climbed.
and though it means she’s all alone sometimes,
from the top she’s got the better view.
and this is the beauty of the tower.
still, like a princess waiting for a prince,
she prays that a daring rescue is not entirely
out of the question.
but the prince can’t carry her down.
she’s climbed too high and gotten too close.
she won’t come down now.
the one who finds her must climb,
not driven by her lonely pleas,
for they remain silent,
not driven by her many tears,
for they remain hidden.
but driven instead by the same force
that impelled her upwards long ago.
and when he arrives there,
he will be her prince,
and she will be his princess.
and there they will stay,
and the tower will become higher still,
and the view more magnificent yet.
for this she waits,
her lonely pleas remaining silent,
her many tears remaining hidden,
and her eyes looking upwards,
ever upwards.
isolation, she knows, is the price
for the view.
but she knows, too, that – if there’s a prince –
the prince will come,
and he will climb for her.
and they will share the magnificent view.
for this is the beauty of the tower.