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Greeting Card Maker | Poem Art Generator

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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They said you came from chimpanzees— That deep in some African jungle You leapt across species, A silent hunter cloaked in blood. But we have lived with chimpanzees For tens of thousands of years. We shared forests, We shared meat, We shared mythologies. Why now? They claim you're a natural disease— But if that were true, Why does nature not offer a cure? Polio fell. Smallpox vanished. Yet you—since 1981— Have danced above the heads Of even our greatest minds. You are not nature’s design. You are manmade silence. You are a disease of profit, A political invention, A capitalist experiment gone global. You were born in the shadows Of white laboratories Fueled by Cold War paranoia, By the greed of corporations And the prejudice of empires. You made kings of pharmaceutical companies And slaves of the sick. You are not a virus. You are a business model. Billions have been spent. Trillions earned. You made markets out of mortality. You made luxury yachts From the suffering of mothers. The cure? Buried beneath patents, Guarded by legal walls And the blood of the voiceless. If the world can send robots to Mars, Edit genes, Simulate universes— Why can’t it cure a virus With a mapped genome And decades of study? The answer is clear: Because your existence Feeds the engines of greed. Because a cured patient Is less profitable Than a permanently treated one. And you dare— You dare to point your trembling finger at Africa, The continent where life began, And say: “There. That is where I was born.” Lies. The first known case? The USA, 1969. A teenager. No jungle. No monkey. Just silence. You demonized a continent To distract from your laboratories. You blamed the poor To protect the rich. But truth, like water, always finds a crack. And now— The world is watching. The veil is lifting. Young scientists are rising Not for profit, But for justice. For healing. For the truth. Your days are numbered, HIV. Not because you are strong— But because your creators Can no longer contain the storm they sparked. And when the truth stands, No lie— No corporation— No empire— Can withstand its weight. We see you. We name you. We end you.

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HIV: The Capitalist Virus

They said you came from chimpanzees— That deep in some African jungle You leapt across species, A silent hunter cloaked in blood. But we have lived with chimpanzees For tens of thousands of years. We shared forests, We shared meat, We shared mythologies. Why now? They claim you're a natural disease— But if that were true, Why does nature not offer a cure? Polio fell. Smallpox vanished. Yet you—since 1981— Have danced above the heads Of even our greatest minds. You are not nature’s design. You are manmade silence. You are a disease of profit, A political invention, A capitalist experiment gone global. You were born in the shadows Of white laboratories Fueled by Cold War paranoia, By the greed of corporations And the prejudice of empires. You made kings of pharmaceutical companies And slaves of the sick. You are not a virus. You are a business model. Billions have been spent. Trillions earned. You made markets out of mortality. You made luxury yachts From the suffering of mothers. The cure? Buried beneath patents, Guarded by legal walls And the blood of the voiceless. If the world can send robots to Mars, Edit genes, Simulate universes— Why can’t it cure a virus With a mapped genome And decades of study? The answer is clear: Because your existence Feeds the engines of greed. Because a cured patient Is less profitable Than a permanently treated one. And you dare— You dare to point your trembling finger at Africa, The continent where life began, And say: “There. That is where I was born.” Lies. The first known case? The USA, 1969. A teenager. No jungle. No monkey. Just silence. You demonized a continent To distract from your laboratories. You blamed the poor To protect the rich. But truth, like water, always finds a crack. And now— The world is watching. The veil is lifting. Young scientists are rising Not for profit, But for justice. For healing. For the truth. Your days are numbered, HIV. Not because you are strong— But because your creators Can no longer contain the storm they sparked. And when the truth stands, No lie— No corporation— No empire— Can withstand its weight. We see you. We name you. We end you.