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 Darkest night and longest hours: Hours to labor and Hours to trip in the primitive ooze of repetition Hours to catch up or trade for spare minutes, Hours with eyes only half aware Of life and its warnings, Lifeless and blissless hours of emptiness, Hours that never end, Hours of yawning and stale coffee, Hours measured in radio songs and cigarettes. Darkest light before the day, With shades of grey and Unidentifiable lumps of black. Humped, dark masses of human Trudge through the hours With brooms and coffee and sleeplessness And floor buffing machines Humming angelic tunes like flagellant dirges. Shapeless figures with no place to go For hours, no home to fine For hours, no peace of mind For listless hours. Moonless hours for the streetlamps And for the peddlers of lawlessness. They count their hours in dimes And nickles and quarters, But never pennies or half dollars, And never by retracing foot steps, If they can help it. Hours for the fools that sleep. Hours for the watchman on his beat. Hours for the black blood Puddled and undiscovered on the blackest streets. Still to come is the hour of discovery. Hours spent despairingly counting The slow progression of passing hours. A second hand that drips like cold molasses. A minute hand that tortures A set of wide and soulless eyes. An hour hand that doesn't move at all. Rituals and rites mark the odorous plumes of hours unseen. An echoing scream amplifies the darkness. The howl of sirens follow in the distance. Hours of violence or depravity or sin or pleasure. These are the hours set aside For the ageless telling of tales And the insomnia of music makers. All the misery of graveyard hours If for no other reason Than the gravity of their six foot title.
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