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.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required They say we go somewhere. But what if it’s not a place, but a punctuation— a semicolon curled at the edge of time, where breath pauses, but the sentence still hums? What if death is not an ending, but a translation— from body to breeze, from skin to stardust, from heartbeat to humming in the walls of a universe too polite to forget us? Maybe we don’t go up or down. Maybe we go sideways, slipping into the negative space between sunbeams and déjà vu, becoming the feeling you get when someone says your name and you weren’t expecting it. Maybe the afterlife is a library with no walls— just thoughts alphabetised by moonlight, where each soul is a book opened only by those who remember your love. Perhaps we become metaphors, living inside a lover’s poem, the ghost of our smile haunting the syntax of someone else’s healing. Maybe we become cities— the blinking lights in a skyline someone stares at when they’re lonely, not knowing they’re looking right at you. Or we’re the shoes left by the door, never moved, but never gone. Or the song that gets stuck in your head on a day when you need it most, though you can’t quite remember why. Maybe we’re the rain that surprises the pavement in July— unseasonal, unreasonable, but somehow necessary. Maybe death is the great return— to the place we came from before we had names, back when we were just ideas gathering shape in the mind of something vast, curious, and unspeakably kind. Or maybe it’s weirder than that. Maybe we become colours no eye can perceive, emotions not yet invented. Maybe we become the dream your cat has when it twitches its paw and you swear it smiled. Maybe we are the punchline to a cosmic joke told backwards. Or the password to a star, or the echo in a black hole repeating a secret no one has ever said aloud. Maybe we’re the static in the signal, the glitch in the code that whispers, “You’re still connected.” But here’s what I think: we become stories. Not the ones etched in stone, but the ones whispered in kitchens and car rides, in laughter around campfires, in tears at 3 a.m. when someone says, “I miss them,” and someone else says, “I know.” We live in the pause between a question and its answer. In the hesitation before someone forgives themselves. In the crack where the light gets in, and where the light never left. We are not the end. We are the underline. The bold type. The margin note. The reason someone rereads the page. When we die, perhaps we go not away— but into everything.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)