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 A lonely beam of yellow-white light, carving a curve in the ink of the night, upon the snow-burdened branches of pine, standing still guard to the lord of the line. The icy wind howls in the silence serene, tempting the light to avert and careen, off of the timber and iron ahead, into the water, the darkness, the dead. And the blizzard, it beckons, with comfort sublime, whispering rest to the lord of the line. For burdens oft carried can even bend steel, and wheels are not able to lay flat or kneel. The engine is tempted, it lets out a peal, a horn most forlorn to the wind most surreal. Yet as the sound leaps through the valley of ice, there redounds an echo—once, twice, and thrice! And under the frost-covered rivets, inside, the fire burns hotter, and strengthens the hide. A purpose so strong is written within, that heard from without, can bring life again. As noble as Atlas, the train carries on, knowing some where to go, and much where it's gone. Accepting the fate of bitterest wine, following on as the lord of the line. But there is a crowd in the carriage behind, they have many eyes, and still they are blind. Driven by torment and anger and spite, to tear out their hearts and sleep in the night. Too proud to sound the horn of lonely man's fear, their fires die within them, drowned by a tear, a droplet of brine they would never expose, so they swallow it whole, like blood in death-throes. And they choke and they sputter, bottling steam, they rush to the brink, as if in a dream. A nightmare of pain in a cold hinterland. And they cast off their life by no one's command. In fear of the trials, they surrender their hope. They laugh at life's line and they sever the rope. A road through the darkness might lead on to shine. Do you dare to take it, O Lord of the Line? I look back fondly on this poem. Though I have grown in my ability to deviate from very structured poetry, I see my natural tendencies toward order when I look at this piece. I think PS drives me to explore new themes, structures, and ideas that will expand my abilities as a poet, and offer insight into my life outside of poetry.
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