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 An eerie wind blows through the decaying bushes on the outskirts, while a rusted door sways on its broken hinges. The smell of ozone lingers from thunder cracking in the distance, as heavy rain unleashes upon the abandoned prairie. A broken soul wanders the expanse, searching for any solace in this apocalyptic world. Her hair has gone white from loneliness, slightly matted around desolate eyes— long ago dulled when civilization died out, decaying her spirit. Why she was still left behind in this wasteland, she does not know. For that is the answer she so desperately seeks. Her delicate hands, once gentle, have been hardened by the harsh elements of time. She used to stand tall among her peers— statuesque like an Amazonian warrior. Now, she stoops over, forever looking down at the ground to shield herself from the harsh light of day. The sun has become a ball of fire, searing into her flesh. She doesn't know if it's getting closer to Earth, or if it's the neverending exposure making her feel as though she's being cooked alive. The only relief comes when the rains fall. A fleeting mercy. A wash of life. She must use them wisely, for they are her only source of water— her only source of hope. Dusk settles over the horizon as Maria returns to the dilapidated farmhouse she has made her transitory home. The smell of death hangs in the air; Brushing aside garbage piled upon the fading brown leather couch, Maria rests her weary body for the evening. Closing her burning eyes, she tries to remember how she got here— how humanity vanished from what was once a lush world. The silence plays tricks on her fracturing mind. Echoes of ghosts reverberate through the howling wind. Long-lost memories begin to flood back. She was happy once. Like old movies in her mind, she remembers running among daisies with friends— the fresh smell of cut grass suddenly filling her nose. A warmth blossoms in her frozen heart. Opening her eyes, she sees herself standing in that field. Reaching down, she picks up butter-colored flowers with now-silken hands. She knows this can't be real, yet she prays to remain in this memory forever. As she turns her head, she sees a creek babbling nearby. She walks to wash her face, but suddenly freezes. A rattling sound. Flames in the distance. The once crystal sapphire sky turns ashen grey. The ground rumbles beneath her feet as screams pierce the once peaceful air. Mushroom clouds blitz the atmosphere. Atomic destruction at a molecular level. Her amnesic mind awakens. The scent of searing flesh burns every hair in her nostrils. The taste of absolute fear courses through pulsating taste buds. White-hot heat licks at Maria's delicate skin as she runs into the bleakness. Her lungs heave, filling with thickening smoke. Her legs tremble, turning to jelly. She feels collapse is near as she flees from impending doom. Thunder roars in the distance, snapping Maria back to the harsh present. Humanity should have stepped in before nuclear annihilation became the final resort. Scientists played god— splicing DNA of the extinct. At first, it was harmless: Dodo birds, Woolly Mammoths. But greed crept in. The rich paid for Saber-tooth pets. Dinosaurs became attractions. Nothing was off-limits. Until it all spiraled out of control. Earth’s Homo sapiens were overrun. Now only the “lucky” few remain— roaming, always on the run, until nature restores what was lost.
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