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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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It felt heavier than he anticipated. It was cold and clumsy in the sweaty palm of his hand. He stared at the hard black object Somewhat amazed at how easily he was able to acquire it. Unsure how to proceed, He had not read any manuals to help in this endeavor, He first held it with the barrel pressed against his temple. Next, he put his lips around the long, narrow barrel. He was surprised by the irony taste of the metal And what he assumed was gunpowder residue from previous use. He laughed at himself for his repulsion with the germs he must have just consumed. Lastly, he held the device at his throat, Pointing up through his head. He pointed the weapon forward and practiced squeezing the trigger Prior to loading the magazine with the bullets from the open box on the table. He wasn't sure why he put in six rounds When one was all that he would need. The magazine slipped easily into the butt of the black Berretta. He opted for the temple option, still spitting out the taste of death. Sweat poured down his face and escaped from every pore of his tormented body. He realized he had not left a note, but it was too late to remedy that oversight. “Good-bye cruel world”, he whispered, or perhaps only thought. His finger slowly pressed the trigger and his world went black. . . As he started to blink his eyes in consciousness he laid motionless wondering why his spirit was still encased in his body. How much time had passed? Is time still relevant? Taking inventory of his surroundings, he realized he was not in the afterlife. He checked the revolver and saw that the bullet was never released into the chamber. He must have passed out from the anticipation of putting an end to his pain. Pain, that somehow, now, seemed more bearable. Perhaps he was being too drastic. Perhaps she was not worth this kind of an end. Perhaps being so far in debt was not all that bad of a situation. Perhaps he could find a purpose in life. He pulled the lever that resulted in a cartridge being loaded into the chamber and thought, “Of course, Stupid.” He ejected the bullet from the chamber; Released the magazine from the butt of his gun; Returned the bullets back into the box, And wrapped everything up in a towel, before placing them in a shoebox and stashing it in the back of his closet. His phone rang, unanswered, as he walked out the front door of his apartment, feeling like a new man with a second chance at life.

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Desperation

It felt heavier than he anticipated. It was cold and clumsy in the sweaty palm of his hand. He stared at the hard black object Somewhat amazed at how easily he was able to acquire it. Unsure how to proceed, He had not read any manuals to help in this endeavor, He first held it with the barrel pressed against his temple. Next, he put his lips around the long, narrow barrel. He was surprised by the irony taste of the metal And what he assumed was gunpowder residue from previous use. He laughed at himself for his repulsion with the germs he must have just consumed. Lastly, he held the device at his throat, Pointing up through his head. He pointed the weapon forward and practiced squeezing the trigger Prior to loading the magazine with the bullets from the open box on the table. He wasn't sure why he put in six rounds When one was all that he would need. The magazine slipped easily into the butt of the black Berretta. He opted for the temple option, still spitting out the taste of death. Sweat poured down his face and escaped from every pore of his tormented body. He realized he had not left a note, but it was too late to remedy that oversight. “Good-bye cruel world”, he whispered, or perhaps only thought. His finger slowly pressed the trigger and his world went black. . . As he started to blink his eyes in consciousness he laid motionless wondering why his spirit was still encased in his body. How much time had passed? Is time still relevant? Taking inventory of his surroundings, he realized he was not in the afterlife. He checked the revolver and saw that the bullet was never released into the chamber. He must have passed out from the anticipation of putting an end to his pain. Pain, that somehow, now, seemed more bearable. Perhaps he was being too drastic. Perhaps she was not worth this kind of an end. Perhaps being so far in debt was not all that bad of a situation. Perhaps he could find a purpose in life. He pulled the lever that resulted in a cartridge being loaded into the chamber and thought, “Of course, Stupid.” He ejected the bullet from the chamber; Released the magazine from the butt of his gun; Returned the bullets back into the box, And wrapped everything up in a towel, before placing them in a shoebox and stashing it in the back of his closet. His phone rang, unanswered, as he walked out the front door of his apartment, feeling like a new man with a second chance at life.