#thewildheartsnet

The Wild Heartsis a network for those who have something to say to a love lost, or a love cherished. For those who are still in love with the art of a simple letter, turned into poetry or prose.

Paramount;
the importance of a moment captured or lost in time.

Monsters & their makers;
bound, chained and desperate for love.

Heavensent;
litanies of lust.

Tag your work with #thewildheartsnet, so we can find it or submit your work directly.

1. Forgotten love.
   
2. An evening of remembrance.
3. Caught in a moment.

Feel free to use any of these prompts or combine all three. It is entirely up to you. If you wish to submit anonymously, send an ask with your chosen pen name and it will be published. 

Make sure to tag with #thewildheartsnet so we can see your work, or simply tag us in the post.

paragonplatitudes:

Let me try to make more sense of this… 

So, you’re 8 years old.
Not once in those 8 years have you ever worried 
That you won’t be enough, 
That you won’t amount to anything. 

In those 8 years you’ve been in spaceships and castles. 
You’ve gone from training wheels to treasure maps. 
Streetlights were your curfew 
And the sunset never seemed like an ending. 

You went to bed that night and woke up 10 years later in a panic
Looking for something you lost the day before. 

The world was falling apart 
And the sun hadn’t even made an appearance yet. 
Your spaceships have landed 
And your treasure maps turned out to be dead ends…

The swing set couldn’t get you out of orbit anymore
And you didn’t find what you were looking for 
In that hole in the back yard.

So, you’re 18 years old.
Everything feels like the ending of the story 
And you don’t even know the plot yet
You start drawing treasure maps again.

Everyone thinks you’re crazy, 
But all you’re really trying to do
Is find what you lost so long ago.
And when they tell you to just retrace your steps…
None of the footprints look like your own.

You start running in reverse.
Whether it be to get away from yourself or who you thought you were, It doesn’t matter.
The point is that you’re looking for something.

You start dusting off old treasure maps and try to revisit the stars.
What once was your castle 
Is now just an old blanket next to the couch in the living room.

You start to panic.

Frantically, you search for the moment of impact 
When your rocket returned home 
And the lid of the treasure chest slammed shut…

But you won’t find it.
Because it’s not there anymore.
You start to notice how empty your gut feels,
Yet, at the same time… so heavy.

You’re 18…
You’ve started to worry that you won’t be enough. 
That you won’t amount to anything. 

In these 18 years you’ve been in spaceships and castles. 
You’ve gone from training wheels to taking tests. 
Streetlights are no longer your curfew
And every sunset is a different ending. 

You’ll go to bed tonight 
And wake up 10 years from now in a panic 
Looking for something you lost the day before. 

The world never stopped falling apart 
And the sun hasn’t even made an appearance yet.
Your spaceships have landed 
And your treasure maps turned out to be dead ends…

Am I making any sense?

-K.G.

4/13/16

(Prompt: Hunting for the lost things)

epistolaryhaze:

it’s further down the line 
   and with a pinch-eyed stare 
she orders: boy with void 

description: hair like dust, only blinks
rebirth from the one who squinted 
and slowed her heartbeat 
orchids round her wrists, 
dragonfly across his lips 

and nothing, 
    nothing beyond this

REBIRTH | based on a promptbythe wild hearts net | mia ivy m

1. Rebirth.

2. Honeyed skies.

3. Hunting for the lost things.

violetpersephone:

dear r,

i meant to write a month ago but i was lost
in the depths of the sky; the dips no one sees but me
i saw you each morning but i still i wanted to write
the metaphor dies when i’m not there each night,
romeo and juliet were star-crossed lovers
but we can’t say that, even when the moon slips
between your fingers and falls flat on the ground
maybe i’ll send this, maybe i won’t after all
deny you of closeness with people who swim
instead of drown and drown and live beneath,
it’s easier when i ignore all letters i receive
and sleep for weeks that turn into months
i’m going to be deeper next year i think, then the next
i started with the sky and now my feet have lost
all semblance of sand.

with adoration,

mia ivy m. 

The Wild Hearts is a network for those who have something to say to a love lost, or a love cherished. For those who are still in love with the art of a simple letter, turned into poetry or prose.

We will be offering prompts monthly for the time being, for those who are interested in submitting or simply tagging #thewildheartsnet in your pieces.

February’s prompts:

Thaw;
the myth of a frozen heart.

Star-crossed dreamers;
distance is like a galaxy ripping apart at the seams.

Elixir;
the antidote to a heart poisoned.

fragilemaleego:

distance is like a galaxy ripping apart at the seams and no one quite knows this like you and me, our skin inches apart our skin miles apart our skin worlds apart and your heat is still the sun on my skin kissing me when there is all that hard to love shadow built up in my skin.

love, that word we’re both so bad at saying but love, it comes to me so easy on the night i miss you as my pillow beneath the wheeling expanse that you call home ever hanging above us. stars are not cold, not distant they are burn and flash fire gone in an instant and I am always fearing for your supernova. if you will remember me in your aftermath or if my love with scatter particles across the sky, and neither of us can ever be found again.

The Wild Hearts is a network for those who have something to say to a love lost, or a love cherished. For those who are still in love with the art of a simple letter, turned into poetry or prose.

We will be offering prompts monthly for the time being, for those who are interested in submitting or simply tagging #thewildheartsnet in your pieces.

February’s prompts:

Thaw;
the myth of a frozen heart.

Star-crossed dreamers;
distance is like a galaxy ripping apart at the seams.

Elixir;
the antidote to a heart poisoned.