When in kindness they try to do good
things get worse
When enraged they have no compassion for us
then, sometimes, things get better

Amid such confusion we all build
(like little demons)
a temple to our own nonsense
which, in turn, in the mess,
we neglect with equal indifference

Is it your beauty, then
that invites the Unpredictables to gather?
And is it they who,
for just once in agreement,
let Harmony dwell in our love?