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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Soldiers Thoughts
Soldiers Thoughts (World War One) Memory is our contribution to life and sleep the eternal dream. This voice of youth has one last breath and we give it to you. My comrade’s corpse will be forgotten like the ash from generals cigar. Our blood will pour to fill their ambitions, So sweet is the vintage they consume at Christ’s table this night. The claret of soldier boys will oil the guns this day, and prayers will be sent In the glory of our annihilation. The lines on the map grow restless. The horses all know their fate, for the rot of progress is in the air. Our preachers gather their crosses, we fight in the name of God. But who does God fight for? Is mercy beyond his gaze? Was this his plan? To create the widows vale that descends upon the son of man. Is a soldier to see the face of God? Through eyes that burn in a yellow mist breathed on by fallen angels. Whose kiss causes him to gurgle for fear he tells the truth. Tells the truth, to the last believer on earth. Futility rules this slaughter, we are the waste of nature. Men and boys are but leaves ordained to fall in the winds of war. There is no sanctuary from the guns that spew their rain of death. It digests us all. Sins and good deeds forgotten. In retribution they take vengeance on we, the poor souls below. There is no dignity to be found here, Only death in corrupted mud. Life is the enemy and reason the sword. We are a disposable commodity, and this land will feast upon us. Mothers of England let your children play. For tomorrow they will come to make angels on earth. This generation will haunt the sky. Sculptured in the storm clouds that gather and you will see your son. For that is where your boy resides. Free from the sins of man, free from the fear of war. And your tears will remember him, “Jack “, who was, your little boy.
Copyright © 2024 Steven Cooke. All Rights Reserved

Book: Reflection on the Important Things