Home » Poems » Poetry Art » Poetry Art / Greeting Card Maker

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.

Text
Layout
Background

Enter Title (Not Required)

Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required
From the void of dispersions, the breath of my path was stolen without a whisper, As if I were not worthy of any confession or even a drop of grace. Just as an unseen step over leaves does not disturb the serene sleep of the earth, Silent, I was left to lose myself in the restless echo of my own footsteps. A speck of dust over a bridge of memories melted into oblivion, When I volunteered my trust, knowing the ash that would follow. And just as unexpectedly, I was left to drift in a fireless wasteland. For now, the ash has returned sentinel, and in the brick of memory, still, it burns not, Nor any spark to make me embrace once more the flame welling from the depths. What a paradox, I feel anchored in the cold vestige of my being, rather than in sweet, deceiving masks, In the memories that once shielded me and now are a cradle of silence. Only in a corolla of stars, where time sighs veiled questions, Where torches of hope, the heart’s avenger, dispel the somber illusion. With steps through the ruins of dreaming, I wander under the immovable sky; The altars that burned now become altars of the void, with my soul begging thirstily for light. In this crypt of the soul, to sit is more sacred, Than in the ephemeral that once shimmered, wondrous and bright, but now, false and foreign, I reconcile with the silent remnants, whose every whisper and sigh I know.

Enter Author Name (Not Required)

Move Text:

Heading Text

Color:

Main/Poem Text

Color:

Background Position Alignment:
LeftCenterRight | TopCenterBottom

Tall Bkgds
Wide Bkgds

Upload Image:

Fit to HeightFit to Width

10mb max file size

Use Internet Image:

Fit to HeightFit to Width

Like: https://www.poetrysoup.com/images/ce_Finnaly_home_soare.jpg

Layout: TallShort

www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry

From the void of dispersions, the breath of my path was stolen without a whisper

From the void of dispersions, the breath of my path was stolen without a whisper, As if I were not worthy of any confession or even a drop of grace. Just as an unseen step over leaves does not disturb the serene sleep of the earth, Silent, I was left to lose myself in the restless echo of my own footsteps. A speck of dust over a bridge of memories melted into oblivion, When I volunteered my trust, knowing the ash that would follow. And just as unexpectedly, I was left to drift in a fireless wasteland. For now, the ash has returned sentinel, and in the brick of memory, still, it burns not, Nor any spark to make me embrace once more the flame welling from the depths. What a paradox, I feel anchored in the cold vestige of my being, rather than in sweet, deceiving masks, In the memories that once shielded me and now are a cradle of silence. Only in a corolla of stars, where time sighs veiled questions, Where torches of hope, the heart’s avenger, dispel the somber illusion. With steps through the ruins of dreaming, I wander under the immovable sky; The altars that burned now become altars of the void, with my soul begging thirstily for light. In this crypt of the soul, to sit is more sacred, Than in the ephemeral that once shimmered, wondrous and bright, but now, false and foreign, I reconcile with the silent remnants, whose every whisper and sigh I know.