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Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

Free online greeting card maker or poetry art generator. Create free custom printable greeting cards or art from photos and text online. Use PoetrySoup's free online software to make greeting cards from poems, quotes, or your own words. Generate memes, cards, or poetry art for any occasion; weddings, anniversaries, holidays, etc (See examples here). Make a card to show your loved one how special they are to you. Once you make a card, you can email it, download it, or share it with others on your favorite social network site like Facebook. Also, you can create shareable and downloadable cards from poetry on PoetrySoup. Use our poetry search engine to find the perfect poem, and then click the camera icon to create the card or art.

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Time wasted. Time gone. Alone and empty with nothing to show. I look down at my hands. Their empty, red, so much potential, these hands. Coulda created the world, coulda destroyed it. How much have they done? if they could tell stories…. if they could tell, what they almost had accomplished. The dreams they started to fulfill the evils they had committed. These hands that brought both good and bad. Time wasted. Time gone. The sun sets. This time it will not rise. It is bound by a number it reached the end. Life flashes by me as if scenery pass a train blurring as it hurdles past. Only a mix of colors a painting left in the rain. And like it now, there is only an empty canvas left. Nothing on it nothing to show. Time wasted. Time gone. I look at my hands. Did they bring me to this place? Did they lead me here? Oh the things they felt soft skin of a girl, smooth, warm The comfort of a fire. The fur of a kitten. The gritty sand of a vast desert. They didn’t need light to see the rough walls in a cavern. But what does it matter. They cant tell their tale. It’s a secret that will pass with them. But they helped me wipe away tears. They helped pull me up mountains. They’ve ran down six strings to create beauty. They’ve written out words that have poured out my insides. Now they try to grasp the wind that’s blowing me away. Opening and closing. I look down their still empty. They never held a pen that signed a country into being. They never felt the steel that won a war. They never held a newborn baby with hands like his only smaller. They never signaled commands to vast crowds. They never brought someone from the brink of death. They never had scars made from nails. They’ve had cuffs around their wrists though. They’ve shaken from fear. They’ve clenched in rage. They’ve felt as dry as bones bleached in the desert. They’ve fumbled and dropped things things that weren’t made to be broken. They’ve left bruises and blood. They’ve grasped my heart trying to hold it together as it burst apart. They’ve covered my eyes at things I could not bare. These hands now empty now cold. Time gone. Time wasted.

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These Hands

Time wasted. Time gone. Alone and empty with nothing to show. I look down at my hands. Their empty, red, so much potential, these hands. Coulda created the world, coulda destroyed it. How much have they done? if they could tell stories…. if they could tell, what they almost had accomplished. The dreams they started to fulfill the evils they had committed. These hands that brought both good and bad. Time wasted. Time gone. The sun sets. This time it will not rise. It is bound by a number it reached the end. Life flashes by me as if scenery pass a train blurring as it hurdles past. Only a mix of colors a painting left in the rain. And like it now, there is only an empty canvas left. Nothing on it nothing to show. Time wasted. Time gone. I look at my hands. Did they bring me to this place? Did they lead me here? Oh the things they felt soft skin of a girl, smooth, warm The comfort of a fire. The fur of a kitten. The gritty sand of a vast desert. They didn’t need light to see the rough walls in a cavern. But what does it matter. They cant tell their tale. It’s a secret that will pass with them. But they helped me wipe away tears. They helped pull me up mountains. They’ve ran down six strings to create beauty. They’ve written out words that have poured out my insides. Now they try to grasp the wind that’s blowing me away. Opening and closing. I look down their still empty. They never held a pen that signed a country into being. They never felt the steel that won a war. They never held a newborn baby with hands like his only smaller. They never signaled commands to vast crowds. They never brought someone from the brink of death. They never had scars made from nails. They’ve had cuffs around their wrists though. They’ve shaken from fear. They’ve clenched in rage. They’ve felt as dry as bones bleached in the desert. They’ve fumbled and dropped things things that weren’t made to be broken. They’ve left bruises and blood. They’ve grasped my heart trying to hold it together as it burst apart. They’ve covered my eyes at things I could not bare. These hands now empty now cold. Time gone. Time wasted.