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 Ignorance is a rhyme without a soul, an art fading into slow oblivion, like fallen tulips swirling through captive rays of a weary sun, amidst hot sighs tearing through the deafening silence of the evening, and they are more than the burning thorns of a phoenix rose moon, infused in scarlet elixirs of an enchanted dusk weaving its silent spell, braiding love into golden glimmers, among double scales of blazing flames, burning my velvety heart and asking, could you be the galactic gardener, the one who waters my weary spirit, when I am but a simple memory, tangled in vengeful vines of vanity that choke and smother, for I have a voice and sing with the grace of garnet amidst ignorant silence... If tomorrow you feel my heartbeat among old and forgotten verses, of a scentless sonnet, long erased and lost in the mists of time, remember that I am the silk and the sage, the untamed silhouette of a flower, a gentle flower that refuses to breathe in the ossuary of withered petals and dreams, wrinkled and ostracized dreams by the thorns of prejudice and unrefined ink, which sting the soft stems facing cyclones of greed and arrogance, spinning in circles of pure and dazzling vanity that know no bounds... Tonight, I follow the warmth of the hyacinth, of unwavering and burning desire, drawing bloody smoke of love with a thread of winged and fragile gossamer, tied to the fragrant roots of horizons untouched by shadows, as I craft promises of petrichor along the spine of a nocturnal garden, where handmade wreaths of hope and faith feel softer, softer than the moonlight that caresses and soothes the bare soul, while my heart resembles a maternal bouquet of burgundy happiness, a woman who does not heed misogynistic mantras, but follows her own path.
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