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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 depths of the mind, endless questions dance like shadows on the vast and silent sky, Who am I, what am I, a speck of dust merged with everything, a fragment of a lost dream? I am nothing and everything at once, an echo of the universe singing its endless melody, A current flowing into the great ocean of existence, where time and space dissipate. In the search for perfection, I find myself caught in the subtle game of old pride, a piece without rest, I try to climb the peaks of morality and art, but discover it's all just a contrast, A shadow play, where my success is nothing but a step on the path of others' failures, An illusion spinning endlessly, a spiral of desires and fears struggling in silence. If you wish to overcome the feeling of ego, ask yourself sincerely why you seek to escape this fight, For the desire to reach spiritual heights is just another mask of pride that keeps your path broken, The ego, a falsehood pretending to be authentic, is not the free center of the soul, but a foreign mechanism, Implanted by the world, inherited reflexes that make us dance on invisible strings, in a predetermined fate. When the ego relearns to be a victim in its own play, it divides and mimics helplessness skillfully, "I am just a bundle of reflexes," it says with unspoken guilt, like a shield against any judgment that comes. But we too are puppets, with souls tied to the same strings that carry us in the dance of the world, Why shouldn't this lie, this shadow play that pushes us toward abysses, infuriate us? In the end, the ego is nothing but what it pretends not to be, a wall of defense around another wall, A labyrinth of illusions and appearances, a closed circle in which we lose our steps and get lost, And in the center, the mysterious nothingness reveals itself, a hidden truth in the heart of a shadowy universe, Where at last, the truth emerges, like a star piercing the darkness, singing its eternal song. In this game of life, we discover ourselves, layer by layer, until we reach the essence, And understand that we are part of everything and everything is part of us, in a harmony without pretense. We are nothing but echoes of an infinite song, where every note matters, every whisper, And in this dance of existence, we lose and find ourselves, in an eternal and magical quest.

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In the depths of the mind, endless questions dance like shadows on the vast and silent sky

In the depths of the mind, endless questions dance like shadows on the vast and silent sky, Who am I, what am I, a speck of dust merged with everything, a fragment of a lost dream? I am nothing and everything at once, an echo of the universe singing its endless melody, A current flowing into the great ocean of existence, where time and space dissipate. In the search for perfection, I find myself caught in the subtle game of old pride, a piece without rest, I try to climb the peaks of morality and art, but discover it's all just a contrast, A shadow play, where my success is nothing but a step on the path of others' failures, An illusion spinning endlessly, a spiral of desires and fears struggling in silence. If you wish to overcome the feeling of ego, ask yourself sincerely why you seek to escape this fight, For the desire to reach spiritual heights is just another mask of pride that keeps your path broken, The ego, a falsehood pretending to be authentic, is not the free center of the soul, but a foreign mechanism, Implanted by the world, inherited reflexes that make us dance on invisible strings, in a predetermined fate. When the ego relearns to be a victim in its own play, it divides and mimics helplessness skillfully, "I am just a bundle of reflexes," it says with unspoken guilt, like a shield against any judgment that comes. But we too are puppets, with souls tied to the same strings that carry us in the dance of the world, Why shouldn't this lie, this shadow play that pushes us toward abysses, infuriate us? In the end, the ego is nothing but what it pretends not to be, a wall of defense around another wall, A labyrinth of illusions and appearances, a closed circle in which we lose our steps and get lost, And in the center, the mysterious nothingness reveals itself, a hidden truth in the heart of a shadowy universe, Where at last, the truth emerges, like a star piercing the darkness, singing its eternal song. In this game of life, we discover ourselves, layer by layer, until we reach the essence, And understand that we are part of everything and everything is part of us, in a harmony without pretense. We are nothing but echoes of an infinite song, where every note matters, every whisper, And in this dance of existence, we lose and find ourselves, in an eternal and magical quest.