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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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My eyelids are taut to their limit,.. I've blinked none. I lay half submerged on the surface of lustrous glass, girded within withering arms of trees. Earlier I could feel the cold and placid liquid outline the perimeter of my face. Now there's nothing but a still and dismal numbness. My body I fear has dissolved, reducing itself of form. It may have spread entirely, coloring the water beneath,.. but I can't be sure. An extraneous seeping bile of viscous thought, inked the inner canvas. Many things now have joined, bridging isolated and foreign cogitations into one gesticulating mass. Distant nocturnal suns have fused with aimlessly wandering fire flies. Ramified branches, and crooked lacerations in a dim sky... unified. An ebb of my senses, within the pulse of muddled perceptions overlay harmoniously against an ever changing flux of melodious insects. Like a harbinger to an overflow, I heard the Quintessence speak- " Imagine a world of the blind. Where fingers feel for the glance of sight. Here, men are born without eyes (they'd see not even black), and they'd know no image devoid of touch. Here, all hands caress the world, to incorporate and understand it. Imagine a world of blind men, to themselves they'd be complete. They'd live without an inkling thought to their slightest imperfection. Only smooth skin beneath their foreheads, and only lips and nose describe their faces. In a blank gaze, animals would watch them as they shuffle along walls, arms like whiskers feeling their way. Imagine a rung of blind men, bereaved of a single organ. For this your world is far beyond their comprehension. Your explanation of sight would be to them, a lie,... a contortion of what is real. listen... I implore you... one measly organ is all that separates these distant rungs. Can you imagine I the Quintessence?, the external denominator that surrounds all things? How many organs can exist, which draw in reality to your core? How many are missing from your bodies? Judging from your senses, is it not ignorant to assume that you know who, and where you are? I am only what has been taken in by your senses. By numbing them,... I state that you are no-one,.... and nowhere."- Bliss integrated with fear, weaving a network of glorious counter-patterns soaking my soul to wrinkles. A cool breeze has brushed my cheek. I feel myself isolated again. I roll my eyes to the left, noticing that all is as it was.

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Ramified Branches

My eyelids are taut to their limit,.. I've blinked none. I lay half submerged on the surface of lustrous glass, girded within withering arms of trees. Earlier I could feel the cold and placid liquid outline the perimeter of my face. Now there's nothing but a still and dismal numbness. My body I fear has dissolved, reducing itself of form. It may have spread entirely, coloring the water beneath,.. but I can't be sure. An extraneous seeping bile of viscous thought, inked the inner canvas. Many things now have joined, bridging isolated and foreign cogitations into one gesticulating mass. Distant nocturnal suns have fused with aimlessly wandering fire flies. Ramified branches, and crooked lacerations in a dim sky... unified. An ebb of my senses, within the pulse of muddled perceptions overlay harmoniously against an ever changing flux of melodious insects. Like a harbinger to an overflow, I heard the Quintessence speak- " Imagine a world of the blind. Where fingers feel for the glance of sight. Here, men are born without eyes (they'd see not even black), and they'd know no image devoid of touch. Here, all hands caress the world, to incorporate and understand it. Imagine a world of blind men, to themselves they'd be complete. They'd live without an inkling thought to their slightest imperfection. Only smooth skin beneath their foreheads, and only lips and nose describe their faces. In a blank gaze, animals would watch them as they shuffle along walls, arms like whiskers feeling their way. Imagine a rung of blind men, bereaved of a single organ. For this your world is far beyond their comprehension. Your explanation of sight would be to them, a lie,... a contortion of what is real. listen... I implore you... one measly organ is all that separates these distant rungs. Can you imagine I the Quintessence?, the external denominator that surrounds all things? How many organs can exist, which draw in reality to your core? How many are missing from your bodies? Judging from your senses, is it not ignorant to assume that you know who, and where you are? I am only what has been taken in by your senses. By numbing them,... I state that you are no-one,.... and nowhere."- Bliss integrated with fear, weaving a network of glorious counter-patterns soaking my soul to wrinkles. A cool breeze has brushed my cheek. I feel myself isolated again. I roll my eyes to the left, noticing that all is as it was.