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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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required in this unexplained feeling of drudgery there is a discontent. omnibus clouds of insecurity circles around; It's much like vultures waiting to consume the dead remains. the chill in the bones restricts the breathing; And each exhale leaves one only gasping for the next breath. I who am the receiver of such have often lifted up my hands; To the powers that be in a plea for mercy. none comes and tragedy seems ever more realistic. there are no quick fixes or medications that can cure; And time appears paused and moments travel at an infinite pace. Can this be my time of unpayed retributions? Are they oversights committed in days so new? A plea of innocence due to lack of intention carries no merit; and I stand before life's juries as convicted. Life has come to a full circle and I'm left with nothing but to pay. There are few conclusive messages to be found in this writing; There may be those who find what they consider intellectual meaning; but I who live each eternity moment by moment find none. I live only to inhale my next breath; While hoping it wasn't my last. this must be in truth the winter of my discontent; And I question what hell has that surpasses this unholy existence. My hopes that I once dreamed of, now emanate an oder of decay; And perhaps the simplicity of this mystery is, That my days grow few and my payment for the past is discontentment
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