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 She is an unread poem, tightly closed, like a book gathering dust on some forgotten shelf, and I, lost among thoughts, became a poet, trying to open her, to free her words, those she hides from the rest of the world. But she is an enigma, a labyrinth of twisted verses, her words are echoes hard to decipher, and she does not easily reveal her secrets, does not give herself away, so I write and scratch, trying to make sense of this chaos. Maybe she is not meant to be read, not by someone like me, but, God, if I won't try, to write her in every way I know, until perhaps, just perhaps, she will let me in, to see the story behind those unread words. She is a tranquil lake, yet deep, where light rarely penetrates, and I am just a wave, trying to stir her waters, to bring her drowned secrets to the surface. I imagine what it would be like to open her pages, to untie her rhymes, but every attempt is a dance on the edge of a knife, and her verses are musical notes I cannot play. And yet, I continue to write, to seek, to hope, that maybe one day, she will leave the door ajar, and I will be able to see beyond her silence, beyond the hidden metaphors. Every night, I sit at my writing desk, with a heavy heart and a mind full of questions, and I plunge my pen into the soul of the paper, trying to unravel her essence. Maybe I am just a madman, a lost dreamer, but I cannot stop trying, writing, hoping, that one day, her words will open like a flower at dawn, and I will be able to read her story, our story, in all its hidden hues.
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