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 Sleep is a deception, a ghost wearing the garment of rest, a bloody truth hidden beneath our eyelids, an escape from the labyrinth of the mind, where light dances in the darkness, a forbidden beacon sought by dying souls, and our outstretched hands tremble, trying to grasp ephemeral illusions. At the touch of that light, repulsion flickers like silent lightning, and you are thrown back, thousands of miles into the past, to the beginning of the road, wandering in the radio silence of your loneliness, contemplating the abyss within, stretching again and again, caught in the dance of an endless cycle, a carousel of shadows. You spin in spirals until you collapse into a black hole that swallows you, traversing galaxies and spitting you into a nebula, suffocating you with stardust, floating weightlessly, like a dream's feather in the hands of night, calling it rest, but your bones whisper it's just a rehearsal for the grave waiting to embrace you. Then, a comet bursts through the sky of the dream and you startle, gasping, for it has already carved a crater in your fragile heart, your eyes, once suns of your universe, look at the ceiling as at a fallen sky, invoking collapse, wishing to release the comet, to unburden you from the weight of the day, and you feel like a burdened spinning top, turning slowly under the weight of time, until that hour of illusory rest returns, a ritual under the moonlight.
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