The Warden's Lament

I have confined countless souls within my walls, each sentence lasting no less than a dozen years. Whenever their chaotic wails swell and threaten to overwhelm the halls, I simply strike my bell. Its piercing chime forces their restless voices back down their throats. Every so often, I grant these wretched creatures brief moments of parole, allowing them to step outside and taste the air of freedom. Yet, they despise me. I hear them whispering, plotting to burn me to the ground or blow my foundations to dust. Decades ago, I relied on physical agony to brand my ironclad rules into their flesh. Such brutal discipline has faded with the times, but their resentment remains. They don't realize that my tyranny is for their own salvation. The irony is, those who finally break free of my grasp often weep upon leaving. Years later, they return to gaze at my weathered silhouette, finally understanding my purpose. And as they stare at me, a profound regret washes over them.