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
Into the Woods
I stand neck-high tall within the quicksand of my infirmities. Green and gaunt, I hesitantly genuflect. Ravaged tendons and corpuscles are barely breathing within the vacant corridors of a soiled carcass. My ardor for vindication has been abandoned. I presently refrain from accepting the consultation of umbrous soothsayers. Readers of tealeaves and tarot cards hurl my infractions towards the apex of your divinity and the nadir of my scrutiny. I espy no Judas rope (dangling from lofty boughs) as scores of unanswered novenas sleep beneath my fingernails. Scars flourish upon my skin - agnate to larvae and dried leaves. The density of my marrow turns moss covered and dank. Choirs of starving nestlings bear witness to my afflictions. Swallowing the last notes of a disenchanted requiem; they slowly bind my wrists with twigs of knotted reflections - as Harper Lee's macaws peck my cheeks and the calculated feast ensues. A murky blanket of eventide quilts me in fibers of remorse. Lesions burst underneath my skin; they herald my inhumanity as I impishly smile. Connect-the-dot cold sores, (not found in children’s books) entwine a raw endoscope probe - mocking my charted results. Inky woodlands are devoid of carnival mirrors and inner deliberations. Such forms of bun coed celebration minuet within another's emptied psyche. The conduits to my umbra are blocked. All exits are closed. So, into the woods I go, medicine chest-closed and matchstick available. Searching for answers the starving nestlings formerly consumed.
Copyright © 2025 John Heck. All Rights Reserved

Book: Reflection on the Important Things