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Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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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In the chamber of silence where souls converge, Masks lie in wait, the nocturnal guardians of our being. Adorned with grimaces and velvet smiles, They are armors against the unknown arrows of the estranged world. Oh, how they descend like curtains over our fragility, Sitting so carefully upon the shoulders of pleasure, the cloth of outward beauty. We learn to parade with them, in a masquerade where every step is watched, Where each breath, heavier than the last, is veiled by studied nonchalance. Few are those who dare shine without the borrowed mask, To stand bare, in the harsh light of day, unafraid of the whirl of rejection. Even rarer is the creature that, in the human garden, stands unwavering in its truth, Unfettered by earthly fears of 'seeming' and 'not being enough'. The mask, once a shelter, becomes the dungeon of the spirit, still in the shadow. A surrogate of identity, which over time melts into the skin of existence, Making it hard to discern where the persona ends and the self begins. You see it, hanging there, lightly, on the hook prepared by the world, A means by which anonymity weaves its web around our essence. It is a game of appearances, where we are all unknown thespians on a vast stage. To traverse beyond the false face and to see the raw core of your proclaimed existence, Is the art that binds us, without unraveling the ties that keep that sliver of secret, A silent call to acknowledge the soul, even beneath the daily makeup. It is not just denial, but the desire to feel understood, even behind the shadows. Power, the world says, lies in hardening the heart, but how deceitful is this thought! For true stature arises from embracing vulnerability, a force that lifts us from the ashes of prejudice. You, be that gentle murmur of your truth in every counterfeit day, Be that fragment of sync with oneself, amidst a choir of disparate voices. Do not fear to dance, even when the dance embraces the void, authentic and raw. In the world of men, to be seen as you are is a gift you offer, A brave smile in the face of a world that demands you to be unyielding, impenetrable. Love and be loved, as once said by a sage long asleep, For in this recognition lies a whole universe of love, before it even begins to be infinite.

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In the chamber of silence where souls converge

In the chamber of silence where souls converge, Masks lie in wait, the nocturnal guardians of our being. Adorned with grimaces and velvet smiles, They are armors against the unknown arrows of the estranged world. Oh, how they descend like curtains over our fragility, Sitting so carefully upon the shoulders of pleasure, the cloth of outward beauty. We learn to parade with them, in a masquerade where every step is watched, Where each breath, heavier than the last, is veiled by studied nonchalance. Few are those who dare shine without the borrowed mask, To stand bare, in the harsh light of day, unafraid of the whirl of rejection. Even rarer is the creature that, in the human garden, stands unwavering in its truth, Unfettered by earthly fears of 'seeming' and 'not being enough'. The mask, once a shelter, becomes the dungeon of the spirit, still in the shadow. A surrogate of identity, which over time melts into the skin of existence, Making it hard to discern where the persona ends and the self begins. You see it, hanging there, lightly, on the hook prepared by the world, A means by which anonymity weaves its web around our essence. It is a game of appearances, where we are all unknown thespians on a vast stage. To traverse beyond the false face and to see the raw core of your proclaimed existence, Is the art that binds us, without unraveling the ties that keep that sliver of secret, A silent call to acknowledge the soul, even beneath the daily makeup. It is not just denial, but the desire to feel understood, even behind the shadows. Power, the world says, lies in hardening the heart, but how deceitful is this thought! For true stature arises from embracing vulnerability, a force that lifts us from the ashes of prejudice. You, be that gentle murmur of your truth in every counterfeit day, Be that fragment of sync with oneself, amidst a choir of disparate voices. Do not fear to dance, even when the dance embraces the void, authentic and raw. In the world of men, to be seen as you are is a gift you offer, A brave smile in the face of a world that demands you to be unyielding, impenetrable. Love and be loved, as once said by a sage long asleep, For in this recognition lies a whole universe of love, before it even begins to be infinite.