Luminously Youthful Chaos

Of many teachings I remember one simple thing, in my mind like an ember. A dying flame of knowledge sparkled my awareness; I remember now that we see things because of the light which falls upon them. If that light falls not, does our conscience also keep our brothers in the dark? If naught shines, does it not exist? If all is dark, there sings no lark? No trees to swoon, no leaves to rustle, not one creature moving a muscle, if that shines not.
So those who truly are and can be seen, must have acquired some sort of sheen. Their skin must glow, their hearts pureness show. A mystery, still, this treachery of Gods, who have given us quality by the odds. A tilted wheel with a rusted reel is what they spin, spreading sparkle across my kin.
But here comes a happy thought - they exist, the ones that shine not. Only our human, lowly eyes, are not worthy of the plan the Fates devise. You say I jest when I affirm that the ones to shine will squirm, and darkness will flow into them. There will come a time for the mighty to fall, to arm shall we, the dark, hear call. For it is in us that the real light dwells, and nothing is to you what your perception tells. All reality is like the wind, and that they do not see, for their eyes are too filled with normality for them to spot you and me.
'Tis not our skin that glows, but our soul, be it filled with woes. Our eggshell - what you call a skin - merely gives a constant shape to the spirit within. In that is the true light reflected, warmth is deflected, love is connected, malice intercepted.
Fear not, for we exist, in our invisible, intangible universe, wrapped in our quantum of darkness. But when the drums shall ring, our birth will burst so sweetly in the day that the false light from before shall fall into dismay.
We, the dreamers, bring disarray.