Atop a high knoll, a Gothic arbor. The town
below seethes in blustery breezes that whirl
around the few trees, bare and brown:
A tempest’s iron furies unfurl.

Two lovers stand on the hill’s stony ground
beneath the arbor’s brick sky
as they look out over the city around
them: marching clouds descend from on high.

The winds whip higher and stir dead leaves
while they hold one another’s warm hands.
Though the bleak scene may lead them to grieve,
no: In togetherness, they make their stand.

They fight, fight for their love: It ignites
their glowing embers of heartlight.

Mental mettle,
Mettle mentally.
You just don't understand,
The way I speak.
So if you're yelling incoherently,
I'm just going to repeat the same thing,
I said before backwards.
So please use restraint my friend,
Or show some restraint to me.