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.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Commodities. Traded as rapidly as futures, sold to bidders, merchants of misery, bought and herded, into cattle-cars, vans, containers sailing, on the seven open seas. Women, men, girls, boys, auctioned into servitude, stolen lives, extinguished families, for, the cheap labour market needs to be fed, an insatiable being desiring young flesh, virgins above all, the high-end product for high-street tastes. Stock-markets fluctuate, beaming their hieroglyphics to the world, derivatives and bonds and those bonded, into sweaty, damp, vermin-infested factories, stitching, always stitching, that prized designer shoe. Have we looked into those eyes, deadened by pain, the light long gone, with mouths sewed shut, all innocence plundered? Girls, women, raped, again & again & again, till cold numb sockets stare back at you, bodies scarred by cigarette burns, whippings, slaps and bites, cocks and fingers. The market never sleeps, neither do the traders, willing buyers procuring merchandise, haggling over flesh and bone and being. Wounds deep, raw, oozing pus and blood. Wounds deeper still, the slaughtering of souls, daughters and sons bartered, flung from stolen childhoods, into the bowels of a living hell. Look into those eyes, look straight into them. Do not flinch, do not avert your gaze. Look into those eyes, staring back at you, asking, pleading, imploring, hoping for death, wishing numbness, as the ****ing continues. I'm not culpable, I say to you, and neither are you, or him or her, but, we are silent savages, mute rapists, quiet molesters. We are culpable, our inaction condemns us. We are culpable, and so are you, and, I, and him, and her too.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)