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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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Their spears did not get heavy, flower blooms did not sprout from barrels. Some chew on ancient bullets, many captured themselves. In dark allies a switchblade blindness entered their hearts. Everything is a memory. The living kill awkwardly, randomly with great kindness a kindness that poisons the tongue, a sweetness that fattens the maggot. Such kindness stalks, buries the raging men alive and the dead men yet survive. Rumi said: ‘you must dance in your own blood’, That kind of killer instinct leads you out of the fire, into that oblivion that polishes eyes. Mad men attack, they are your own wolf pack. Embrace the fang, bleed into their mouths until rage chokes their gorging throats. If you have a ghost in your heart make love to it in the gore and the spittle. The raging dead men have slaughtered themselves upon a dark stage far from the light. Don’t pity them, they are mad with love now, though they cannot ever be near you, their heat is a pornographic illusion, just the mud of a killing field. They are manacled to greater lusts, passions only those beyond the horizon of themselves may see. Those who have come through are set apart as scarecrows in a field of sleeping dogs. In the light of day light candles, scorch the wax until the dark smoke gutters into absence. Don’t pray for the raging dead men, they are all inside you now, pray to set them free so that you may also dance upon their blood.

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A Poem For the Raging Dead Men

Their spears did not get heavy, flower blooms did not sprout from barrels. Some chew on ancient bullets, many captured themselves. In dark allies a switchblade blindness entered their hearts. Everything is a memory. The living kill awkwardly, randomly with great kindness a kindness that poisons the tongue, a sweetness that fattens the maggot. Such kindness stalks, buries the raging men alive and the dead men yet survive. Rumi said: ‘you must dance in your own blood’, That kind of killer instinct leads you out of the fire, into that oblivion that polishes eyes. Mad men attack, they are your own wolf pack. Embrace the fang, bleed into their mouths until rage chokes their gorging throats. If you have a ghost in your heart make love to it in the gore and the spittle. The raging dead men have slaughtered themselves upon a dark stage far from the light. Don’t pity them, they are mad with love now, though they cannot ever be near you, their heat is a pornographic illusion, just the mud of a killing field. They are manacled to greater lusts, passions only those beyond the horizon of themselves may see. Those who have come through are set apart as scarecrows in a field of sleeping dogs. In the light of day light candles, scorch the wax until the dark smoke gutters into absence. Don’t pray for the raging dead men, they are all inside you now, pray to set them free so that you may also dance upon their blood.