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 I am Lilith, like a ghost pipe under oak shadows of Tomorrow River Valley hiding in-between hours, roots sipping moonlit juice borrowed from Eden, a deception of men ascending into the hollow of my forgotten stories— awaiting Judgment and Consumption, theirs and mine. I am the decider beside night’s veil weighing their worth with serpentine grace, tail hidden from men beneath the stars' cloak. I am a corpse-plant resurrected, ancient listening memory gleaned from the decomposed feet beneath my feet bound too, my sisters—passing arcane secrets, drained from the womb of a fecund forest floor. Pursing my shaded petals loosely, I decide as I am Lilith with echoes of men— whether to welcome bees' seeking, upside- down crawling, let them enter my hung-over head in full drooping bloom of bitter white, or remain in my haunting place, sisters praising the decayed earth from which I sprang where none but poison ivy thrives, eternally waiting. Waiting for a naturist or an open mind to find then sever me clean, under my milky knees soak my tender spine and shake my dusky bell-head in potent distillations, freshly freed. You must drown me before I decompose with my story of unease untold this cycle— before bees transform me into a taste of fungal honey, night-blackening my stem, whiplashing my ghost head skyward, now hollow in its posturing tribute to useless sun— You must pick me. Use me as analgesic, sip on my secrets, but please leave my sisters be so that I may come again through them when discomfort returns, for I am Lilith, with time's esoterica tucked under my thumb, rooted in wait for the cycle to begin again.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)