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 Goddess of storm and dissidence, Lilith begot by spurious legend and foolish myth in the dark recesses of pastoral histories where ancient mysteries were defiled. Illegitimate child. Apollo's seed, by Roman Empire inquisitional rules inquire, to her whereabouts seeping fetid doubts, in the bones of the survivors. Submission required by slave drivers, And the Elite, now on Wall Street. Twenty five generations later, they still hate her... Yet, I see her in me, shadows of malcontent, when passed by for promotion and toxic lotion is sold to keep us young. I hear her forked tongue, when my voice is ignored again, when single mothers barely maintain poverty existence led as punishment for being un-wed. Burkas hide the bruises and we’ve run out of excuses why so many women are poor. Our beloved men are sent to war for corporate profits made and taxes paid in blood and tears. Yes I have fears. I fear her rolling up through me, if they only knew me and what I hold back, they would attack, and mark me feminist bytch, witch and un-Christian. Listen... I hear her whisper from sister to brother from father to mother, lover to lover... I feel her emerging with Pele’s fire, Aphrodite’s desire and Venus’s lust. We must, hear her. She is part of us, the Mother’s curse, foist in the never ending thirst for power and dominance over all. Eden’s free fall, orchestrated, ill-fated, out-dated and reciprocated, by us, still now, somehow. The sacred dance beckons us in the second rush of knowing... rivers flowing, ever to sea. What will be, will be... lost in the slipstream currents of the paradigm whore who dares seek safe passage to our shore.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)