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 Written: July 18, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker Line of inquiry: "heart sets up a vibration echoing as wordless intent mind translates in symbols flight of our soul’s ascent is intent then a stirring of soul with God, conferring" *************** Before tenacity sets off its fetching flame, There is a stillness that cogitation can't achieve. A breathless edge where time loses its cleave, And stillness screams what words never claim. The heart begins with an unanswered bell, A fork of tuning fire before a plucking smell. Its pulse is an unwritten or unheard poem, A lit beacon shines in the grid of low hum. Soul and root share secrets in this domain, In soft waves of warm, unspoken light. If feelings boil up, but lack a refrain, Still caught up in the whirlwind of pure might. All that matters is the look of that sparkle, A phantom of greatness carved from the glow? Ideas arise from dreams barely recalled, A river that blends where no map can scald. The mind is an inception of a starry semaphore, Strain to maintain this shaking in a scroll. But what it communicates is only a spore, Mirrors of an overall that lacked a belt role. The soul is a vessel lined with vapor vows, Doesn't talk; it only pulses and flames. Its desire strums the strings when it plows, Not sowed, not seen, but vital with a name. So before the page, the docket, and the appeal, There is a sacred rhythm that rules, not real— A chorus of rhythm sans beget, wild and free, A rifle that is still not seen by the scree. Is this divine voice in quiet sway? Talking to the soul of cosmic breath? A hymn that vibrates but cannot say, Where truth and myth flock across death. Intent is but the ember after song— Ash of awe where stars and spirit throng.
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