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 "They Say Mushrooms Grow Best in the Dark" Winter arrived after The Darkness blew in with its boiling black clouds. they say mushrooms grow best in the dark. we hid underground. eventually we crawled out from the cracks like bugs to ash, the fallen bones of dust. we breathed in the blow back. strange angels, aliens to us, wandered like monsters in the starkness of a different war, covered in black ooze and demon masks. there was no eclipse, there was no Sun. 3 days of scorching fire, blood shed, and the stabbing nails of judgement, and its horrible crucifixions. such terrible carnage. there was much worse than this, to come. for the few who survived, the fumes burnt our skin the air burnt our lungs. the iodine capsules were useless. our innocence perished many children, taken, the true meaning of our lives, dissolved, gone. we were blind. comfortable in our complacency. we weren’t prepared when the truth of it all, like parables from old, blew in on the clouds. the ancient stories we considered pages of nothing, we thought fiction, in long forgotten books, from our childhood presented itself with its meaning and our inclusion. when Dominion, arrived in full force, it was unwelcome. they say, mushrooms grow best in the dark. eventually we crawled out from the cracks like bugs; to ash, the fallen bones of dust. strange angels, aliens to us, wandered like monsters in the starkness of a different war, covered in black ooze and demon masks. the sleeve of armour on the dead angel buried under burnt wings, that the wheels of battle had driven over and busted in, read: 18th Tiberius 25.03/03.04/07.04/AD Sons of … well, we can only surmise it was the soldier’s rank and serial, his regiment title, where he once belonged, the rest was charred 18th Tiberius 25.03/03.04/07.04/AD Sons of ... there was no eclipse, there was no Sun. (LadyLabyrinth / 2020)
Enter Author Name (Not Required)