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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 flowers he is holding are just one of the reminders of that grief he is holding on so rigidly, prompting a picture of his wife, sniffing the same flowers as she walked the aisle, he smiles stupidly. now he reaches the place his wife’s resting, as a ritual it’s become for him to come a week, bringing her favorite flowers he talks to her but not a tear sheds from his cheek. he snuggles with his wife’s dress, he took off of her body as token of her echoes, he smells his wife through his lungs infusing all of her in his veins, to every cell it flows. he hasn’t washed her dress, for he’s addicted to the scent of her sweat infested in the fabric, how can he wash her off, with his tears yet he isn’t ready to let go of her this quick. he sits to eat in front of his wife’s chair, empty and void of her grace, tears yet to fall knowing he cooked two bowls of rice even after these many days. he still looks for his wife when he wakes up just to find deep chasm, he still chants her name in daily ritual, she’s gone the truth will he ever fathom. she might be gone forever, but left him aimlessly stuck in the worlds’ in between, he lives another day waiting to sleep beside her the truth others had seen remains unseen.

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Echoes of Unmourned

the flowers he is holding are just one of the reminders of that grief he is holding on so rigidly, prompting a picture of his wife, sniffing the same flowers as she walked the aisle, he smiles stupidly. now he reaches the place his wife’s resting, as a ritual it’s become for him to come a week, bringing her favorite flowers he talks to her but not a tear sheds from his cheek. he snuggles with his wife’s dress, he took off of her body as token of her echoes, he smells his wife through his lungs infusing all of her in his veins, to every cell it flows. he hasn’t washed her dress, for he’s addicted to the scent of her sweat infested in the fabric, how can he wash her off, with his tears yet he isn’t ready to let go of her this quick. he sits to eat in front of his wife’s chair, empty and void of her grace, tears yet to fall knowing he cooked two bowls of rice even after these many days. he still looks for his wife when he wakes up just to find deep chasm, he still chants her name in daily ritual, she’s gone the truth will he ever fathom. she might be gone forever, but left him aimlessly stuck in the worlds’ in between, he lives another day waiting to sleep beside her the truth others had seen remains unseen.