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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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Like an intricate mosaic with just one missing tile. You know something is wrong and has been for a while. Surreptitiously working its way into your mind. Not wanting to admit an illness, saying things will be fine. The nightmares come first, wake up dripping in sweat. Maybe see a doctor about it, but doesn't want to just yet. Panic attacks, immobilise, their talons grip deep into your soul. Forced to submit to the wretchedness of its filthy black hole. Like many before, temporary solace is found in the bottle. Swilling down the demon drink until over they topple. When the foggy haze of drunkenes clears and the innards burn. To be immersed in liquor once again they would yearn. The pills, well they work to keep you sane. Not to make you better but just to numb the brain. Emotion is gone, neither feeling happy or sad. I think I'd rather feel something, even if it's bad. PTSD, reduced to an acronym all of its own. R.Y.O.K, is the message to call someone over the phone. A campaign of advertising, that will do the trick. But the sufferer still feels no one cares one little bit. Like the potters field from times of old. Where broken vessels are tossed, that don't quite fit the mould. It's a difficult task to bend down and pick up each shard. Try to put a pot back together, it just seems way too hard.

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The Potters Field

Like an intricate mosaic with just one missing tile. You know something is wrong and has been for a while. Surreptitiously working its way into your mind. Not wanting to admit an illness, saying things will be fine. The nightmares come first, wake up dripping in sweat. Maybe see a doctor about it, but doesn't want to just yet. Panic attacks, immobilise, their talons grip deep into your soul. Forced to submit to the wretchedness of its filthy black hole. Like many before, temporary solace is found in the bottle. Swilling down the demon drink until over they topple. When the foggy haze of drunkenes clears and the innards burn. To be immersed in liquor once again they would yearn. The pills, well they work to keep you sane. Not to make you better but just to numb the brain. Emotion is gone, neither feeling happy or sad. I think I'd rather feel something, even if it's bad. PTSD, reduced to an acronym all of its own. R.Y.O.K, is the message to call someone over the phone. A campaign of advertising, that will do the trick. But the sufferer still feels no one cares one little bit. Like the potters field from times of old. Where broken vessels are tossed, that don't quite fit the mould. It's a difficult task to bend down and pick up each shard. Try to put a pot back together, it just seems way too hard.