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Explain To Me, In Florid Prose

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IronOxide:
This Door:

GenericName:
On blank grey wall, with blank grey door, I saw a place where I could stay. The scarlet letters, scarlet signs, made chaos in communiqué. I lingered here, by whitewashed wall, the cinderblocks became my friends; I know no more, it seems to say, if this is where my journey ends. The path here was a toilsome one; through red-hot flames and pitch-black wells; yet here it seems I must perpend what these two omens mean to tell. The fiery words on neutral wall burn cinders in my sense of place; indeed, my ill-fit resting spot seems far more apt an exit place. Yet others knew it was not so: what was an outlet, now is not- one last adieu I shall not get because of words placed on this spot.
My life sans purpose, now it seems, is like a coal on moonlit sands; at whim of those with more than me, I listen to the words at hand. They speak to me, when others don't, they tell me what can come to pass; this door, it seems, is no more used for what it once had known steadfast.
The sharp red lights cut into me just as the wall behind them soothes; although I wish to stay no more, my benefactors speak the truth. I cannot leave this place I love, for exit is forbidden; I must not stay, or clear white walls will show what once was hidden.

Is that florid enough?

KharBevNor:
The turgid air was heavy and pregnant with the unfolding story of a promise of a storm. Distant thunder rolled down from the surrounding jagged mountains like barrels of hellish ale rolling down God's own loading ramp into the beer cellar of the night. This was the atmosphere of the dark and grim night the night Lord Rolande came before the portal.

He was a man of handsome demeanour and handsomer domain. He rode a white horse, but not that night, for it was being shod, and the cost of its shodding was considerable, for Lord Rolande, though a man of great sophistication, was not a man who could judge a bargain.

Lord Rolande stood before the portal. Its colour was grey. It was not the greyness of slate, nor yet the greyness of a grey horse, nor even the greyness of a grey pencil, but it was the very greyness of a grey door. He stood before it, like a statue it seemed, poised on the threshold. His eyes, which were grey, but a different grey from the door, indeed actually the greyness of slate, which was not the doors greyness, darted hither and thither at the two signs which adorned the door.

After a long time, Lord Rolande's lips parted, like a yawning chasm opening in the heart of the world...

"FFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-"

Caleb:
And I screamed until the walls reverberated with my sorrow.

"Oh Portal!  Oh Outlet!  Oh escape! How can you be an exit and yet not exist?" To Egress from you would be fulfilling your purpose and yet clearly you have no purpose. What is your meaning?  What is the meaning of anything!  You are like a tree in winter with no leave instead of no leaves."

There is no end, there is no exit.  We all simply stand, waiting for the fire alarm to sound.

Kugai:
I see The Great Circleing Poets of Arium have shown up.

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