When one door closes, I come knocking. Some people catch me, some people let me slip. I’m hard to find. I’m hard to make. I’m taken for granted when fear takes place.

A word I know, six letters it contains, remove one letter and twelve remains. What is it?

I move your hand but leave no trace, I’m both your prison and your grace. I vanish the moment you’re forced to choose, Yet I’m the very power you fear to lose. Kings can’t command me, gods can’t refill. Name the quiet rebel ruling you still.

White enters a prism and comes out this way. On every continent, I’m lucky so they say. I’m wonderful the world round, and I’m musically complete. I’m deadly when I’m counted, but divine in a week.

My first five refer to a group of those famously persecuted in New Orleans My last three can lift more than ten times their own weight Altogether, we’re a legally or morally binding agreement