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 the photo graphic, 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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By Now You Have Forgot' - To Whom It May Concern - Part 2
Continued from Part 1 “Upon your knees in golden naves, while peeking through the slots, You horded thirty silver pieces, downed a whiskey shot, Then crossed yourself and wrapped yourself in furs of ocelots, And danced on cleated cloven hoofs in purple polka-dots, Then drank His blood from chalice cups with pious afterthoughts. “You’ve treated men like mongrels chained, like little flies to swat, By doing what you wanted to, instead of what you aught; You’ve wiped your nose with dollar bills and paid your serfs with snot, But when you’ve paused to preen your pride, you’ve scrubbed a scarlet blot. “In ashes of our victories: the diamonds that you sought, The crock of gold, the Golden fleece of bogus Argonauts - In mirrors of your lifelessness, the evils you begot. “The haunted winds strew leaves of time across a shallow plot Where now, beneath the frozen stones blanched bodies bathe in rot, Disintegrate, return to dust to feed Forget-Me-Nots Amidst the bane and pits of pain where broken bones lie caught. “In fields above the catacombs and tombs of Camelot The black and withered tree of Death arises from the spot Where oft beneath a bleeding moon you hid your gold in pots Embedding doubts neath barren bogs where roots of wormwood squat. “While waiting at the river Styx, in twisted time untaught, From branches of the gallows tree, in recollections wrought, Your soul, a beggar’s blanket, hangs in crazy quilted knots, With dangling pearls and diamond studs mid dripping crimson clots And gaping wounds with bulging eyes like fouling apricots, For wrapped in chains around your throat, the Reaper’s grim garrote.” Yes, that’s the fate of all your kind, disclosed by Wise Men taught. But that was, oh, so long ago, by now you have forgot… End
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