Dave Bonta's "Disordered" is a tiny poem built around one surprising idea: that a state of total mess can feel like a gift. The speaker describes a "din," a jumble of noise in which everything is out of place, yet calls it a lute done in gold. A lute is a delicate, graceful instrument, and gold makes it precious, so the chaos is dressed up as something beautiful.
The reason comes in the last line. All of this disorder was "pleased with" one thing: "my discovered love." The wording is odd, almost as if the mess itself is happy, and that gives the poem a playful, giddy feel. The speaker seems to be in the first rush of finding love, when ordinary life is thrown off balance but nobody minds. The mood is warm and light, with a little wonder in it. The short, broken lines mimic that dizzy state, leaving the reader slightly off balance too, but smiling.