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 In the valley of the academics, in the night that falls like a spider's web over the world, I see them moving, like pale shadows, struggling in their golden cages, They, who fancy themselves independent thinkers, who think they are eagles soaring in blue heights, But they are just domesticated doves, with clipped wings and gazes lost in the distance. I see them wearing their masks of rebels, pouring their words like enchanted potions, But deep inside, they are legions of kneeling souls, submissive and docile, They are the most socialized of all, the most conformist, the tamest of the wild dreamers, And, in this play of shadows and lights, they find the illusory comfort of a quenched revolt. In their minds, wheels of thoughts spin, like an old clock, but its hands never show the hour of truth, For they are prisoners of a system that has stolen their will, sucked the sap of their courage, And, in this abyss of dependency, they are the most pampered, the most spoiled, Like children who have never known the harshness of life, only the sweetness of lies. I hear them murmuring in the secrecy of the night, singing their melodies of revolt, But their voices are just lost echoes, among the thick walls of the system, For their lack of independent thought is a disease that cannot be cured, And thus, they are always deceived by the tricks of a system that enslaves them without chains. They are bitter and powerless, yet they believe themselves rebels, they believe themselves heroes in a world of dreams, And, in this sweet-bitter illusion, they find solace, without knowing, That they are just puppets in the hands of an unseen puppeteer, who pulls their strings, And thus, they dance, without realizing it, in a tragic and melancholic ballet, In which they will never be free, will never be truly alive.
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