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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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The post industrial lack of revolution continues to spew its poisonous fumes, Into our mouths from its radioactive decay whose half-life is replenished by half of our own. Plucked ripe from the fruitless laurel of she who bears the buds of forget-me-bots, We’re but organic meat trapped in mechanical shells of a system meant for metal. Aye, the smith whose metallurgy bends the knee into a molten iron, Shapes a tool or lack thereof into what might be wielded or sheathed forever. Alas! Have you been to school? Have you you seen the shapes molded by the silver-tongued smiths? Injecting venomous neurotoxins with a viral bite lying dormant throughout our life. Eight to three, age five till eighteen, between each fake time is but a traumatic blur, A blended forced course of regurgitated gags from the mouths of the hawks that fed us. On what can the time in the classroom be spent, When can their lessons be used to purchase, That which we lost in the name of a game without a purpose? The time purloined in our youth has been but a symbol held for ransom, Made available with an offer to acquire that which was never ours: A chance to invest in a future day rather than in that which we’re forced to pay. 5/18/18

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Paying For Stolen Time

The post industrial lack of revolution continues to spew its poisonous fumes, Into our mouths from its radioactive decay whose half-life is replenished by half of our own. Plucked ripe from the fruitless laurel of she who bears the buds of forget-me-bots, We’re but organic meat trapped in mechanical shells of a system meant for metal. Aye, the smith whose metallurgy bends the knee into a molten iron, Shapes a tool or lack thereof into what might be wielded or sheathed forever. Alas! Have you been to school? Have you you seen the shapes molded by the silver-tongued smiths? Injecting venomous neurotoxins with a viral bite lying dormant throughout our life. Eight to three, age five till eighteen, between each fake time is but a traumatic blur, A blended forced course of regurgitated gags from the mouths of the hawks that fed us. On what can the time in the classroom be spent, When can their lessons be used to purchase, That which we lost in the name of a game without a purpose? The time purloined in our youth has been but a symbol held for ransom, Made available with an offer to acquire that which was never ours: A chance to invest in a future day rather than in that which we’re forced to pay. 5/18/18