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 I'm an ashen dove, fading in zephyr of wine valleys, saturating in fog upon enchanting hills, draped in grape-green silk, where fantasies of forest, sprout cynthia moon of a bygone medieval saga, amidst heavenly eventides, and wailing weeds prick my shadow, infusing iced intentions of the puppet's paradise~ floating in islets of shackled bones. My wings are made of violet wool, fluffed with blueberry cotton and stitched with the fabric of amethyst satin, but as soon as my tiptoeing feet touch the seafoam grass, it stings my silent glacial flight, making me bleed in chloroform- dipped letters. If love was a rosy matte comet, I would carve pastel orchid smiles amidst kismet-coated cherry blossoms, with frozen floral paints and forgive beige betrayals of aqua sirens, to which the scents of evermore, sweetly succumbed. But maybe, jasper tinted jasmine petals, are sewn with poisoned thistles whilst being dispersed upon the chambers of midnight raindrops, and those soulful stars in your eyes are a mere mirage, flourishing false silhouettes of a perfumed saudade in nocturnal negligence. So, pardon these bleeding metaphors that echo sombre sun's soliloquy in the hazy kiss of gloom and follow me to the teal towers, where this fluorescent flesh slumbers in enfolded spruce leaves of sequoia sonnets. For, when the last petal falls as poetry, my soul would be alive in wistful runes, mourning in a doleful decanter, whilst eyes would frown in fragile promises, wiping diplomatic dust of dolent delusions and knitting mists of manipulations, carelessly sinking~ to soil of feathered dandelions. Where nurtured seeds of jade reflections, still haven't ruptured every pixie dust of hope, in their life's dormant decession, reminisce me as an ivory moonrise, fluttering beyond, dahlia chains of sunshine.
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