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 Sometimes I can’t decide whether or not these words are saving me, or if I’m wasting my time - circling around the same clogged drain. Damning myself with the filth of what I’m trying so desperately to rid myself of. I finish a line- one beautiful, concise moment of pure perspective- and I feel cleansed. But, then the tears pool around the spent shells at the bottom of my escape, and the bullets are re-manufactured. And I’m left with a hand full of cartridges; With my own metaphors pointing right back at me. Telling me that I’m just as superficial as the wounds I’ve emblazoned on pages that I vainly expect to become some sort of idiosyncratic scripture. A living testament to my own journey- that will lead to... Well, somewhere else. Hopefully. But, I continue on. Burying myself in catharsis. Begging for connection. However finite, and temporary. Swelling at the thought of becoming more than what I am. But, I’ll never make it down- through that drain. Into any sort of calm. Normalcy. I’m soaking wet and polluted. Screaming the words of better men; Hanging on to the tile, the best I can as the showering storm of crazed sentiment attacks my flesh. Growing hotter. No matter how long I grit my teeth and beseech the acoustics of my cage. It still sounds the same. My voice carries, but I don’t have the tongue. I’ll always be, the static in the next room. The faint buzz that someone may hear, and think for a moment- that they heard something beautiful. But, then I’ll fade. Running past their body as a gentle gust of delusion. And they’ll turn their head back to their friends. And tell no stories of what they felt. -James Kelley 2018
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