• I slam and pierce the silence, not including the repetitive ticking of the nearby clock. Another somber morning, another tiring day, another fight, another escape. Every day emotions are spilled like paint on a canvas. Every day the silence grows worse. I am so hurt by it all, why must life be so painful, so dreaded? I am but a door and have seen every color of sadness. I have felt the dark and the light, heard the wind and the ice, I have seen time stop and have stood through it all. I am the conflict; the passage between the souls. I am the voice that does not make a sound but simply the water that puts out the fire. I am yet to see the water revive the flower. I am but a door but O so bold.