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 I swallowed a clock and it never struck twelve. Now time drips from my ribs in Morse code, each tick a prayer carved in reverse. The stars forgot my name, so I renamed myself after things that break quietly, a bruise in the shape of a hymn, a mirror that bleeds only under moonlight. There’s a violin growing behind my lungs, strings pulled taut with the nerves I never learned to silence. Every breath is a sonata of knives, still, I play it sweetly, as if pain is just another way to stay melodic. He touched me like an eclipse touches the sun, brief, devastating, impossible to look at. I didn’t burn. I became the shadow. Something softer than ash, but just as forgotten. The ocean inside me has no shore. It loops in on itself like a lie I told too well, saltwater laced with syllables I choked on, his name, folded into the lining of my stomach like a secret I mistook for hunger. I wrote love letters on paper made of smoke, sealed them with the blood of a voice I no longer use. They vanished in the wind, or maybe into him. He was always good at absorbing storms and pretending they were rain. The saints won’t take me. I burned my wings for warmth too early and now I sleep inside the furnace of what I couldn’t say. Even silence has a temperature. Mine rests somewhere between longing and combustion. I dream in algebra. His face is always x, unknown, unsolvable, but rooted deep in the math of me. If you ever find my ghost, don’t call it a haunting. Call it a rhythm. A heartbeat trapped in a hallway. A pulse too stubborn to quit.
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