Falling stars.

Taken for granted and forgotten in time, you cry out for attention in the darkness. Years gone by have dealt you the most rotten of hands.

You drink and sing of more joyful days of your wasted youth. Raised three children from broken dreams and river soil.

Growing with the speed of a shooting star while never truly shining. Three great miracles tainted by two ghosts playing human.

A wayward soul wrapped in hemp smoke and dreams outside of a pond of possibilities. She has the power of the wind and wood but ignores both.

 The other, a ticking time bomb made of thoughts and bitter candy of every color. A living horror walking with a necklace of flowers around his neck.

The third  born from a womb of magic and energy that wasn't present in his mother. A mystery to the other two but he is their blood without a doubt.

Now you both watch as they grow and grow separate as every day passes. Put your egos in the trunk in the basement and get closer to your golden eggs before they spoil.