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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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Damascus Is On Fire! Damascus is on fire! The wooden men and the plastic men. They roam the avenues in search of corpses. Young deathless corpses with frozen grins. They break into the mansions and into the buildings of hypocrisy. They strangle the truth and eat hate for breakfast. I scream from the hill top. I cup my hands to amplify the sounds. I bend over and tell the wooden men, the plastic men, To sniff there as Mercutio sniffed the Nurse. To smell there as Hamlet smelled something rotten.. Evidently, it has all been said already. Apparently it has all been told many times before. There is absolutely nothing new under the sun. Nothing. Nada. So what business do I have Sitting here in Death’s paradise In bloody Damascus as it burns Writing this and screaming this and bellowing this missive of nonsense? And who am I to think that anything I have to say Or plead, or wail Has any profound significance at all? Where is this going? I really don’t know. Should I? Should anyone? Damascus is on fire! The wooden men and the plastic men Have their swords lifted and prepared. They roam the ancient avenues in search of corpses They strangle the truth. Waiter! Waiter! I’ll have my martini now; Make it dry and toxic.

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Damascus Is On Fire

Damascus Is On Fire! Damascus is on fire! The wooden men and the plastic men. They roam the avenues in search of corpses. Young deathless corpses with frozen grins. They break into the mansions and into the buildings of hypocrisy. They strangle the truth and eat hate for breakfast. I scream from the hill top. I cup my hands to amplify the sounds. I bend over and tell the wooden men, the plastic men, To sniff there as Mercutio sniffed the Nurse. To smell there as Hamlet smelled something rotten.. Evidently, it has all been said already. Apparently it has all been told many times before. There is absolutely nothing new under the sun. Nothing. Nada. So what business do I have Sitting here in Death’s paradise In bloody Damascus as it burns Writing this and screaming this and bellowing this missive of nonsense? And who am I to think that anything I have to say Or plead, or wail Has any profound significance at all? Where is this going? I really don’t know. Should I? Should anyone? Damascus is on fire! The wooden men and the plastic men Have their swords lifted and prepared. They roam the ancient avenues in search of corpses They strangle the truth. Waiter! Waiter! I’ll have my martini now; Make it dry and toxic.