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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www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
Casualty Attack: the Fantasy of Death and the Desire of Guilt
---Casualty Attack--- Like old memories legs giving out having grown tired in waiting slouch through the cheese cloth of mind and sour perception in guilt. Guilt is the culture of the mind, a great fungal expanse of 'what could be's and 'why did I's. Guilt is the past expecting that lost futures deserve to haunt the mind. The Death of what we are not is a constant peril for even the sturdiest of heads. That these ghosts are owed anything is the tragic play of the soul, seeing as we are still inclined to assume death as 'passing on'. We'd trick ourselves into believing that our life leads up to 'allowing' death to along. Yet Death only erupts in the ultimate dismisal of control. Life proceeds to this point. Life is all that passes. It is our quiet ownership of mythical Death that plants ghosts in our mind and the greatest trick the past ever pulled was to make of us owners of it's dead. but Death is nothing to own. Cannot be held in definition; Death is abscense, a face which cannot mirror. We are such inconceivably contrieved creatures that we will never witness the most significant point in our lives, namely, our death, and this lack is the fuel to which the past burns guilt in our eyes.
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