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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 called her Alice, but perhaps her true name was Smoke, rising slow and silent from letters never sent, from altars crumbled beneath the cold gaze of forgotten saints, from lips that kissed her only to still her breath. She did not fall. She transcended. There is a sacred difference, between shattering and choosing the void. She stepped beyond the back of her own reflection, where silver fractures whispered secrets older than time’s first prayer, and her eyes held the quiet sorrow of gods who have forgotten mercy. The wormhole was no place, but an unspoken hymn, a rift in the fabric of becoming, curved like a question too holy for a mother’s voice, too fragile for an angel’s touch. No rabbits greeted her, only warnings draped in silence, clocks weeping timeless tears, knowing the pain of counting souls that vanish between moments. In that other world, she wore her scars like relics, held her shadow like a prayer, whispering softly, “I forgive the absence of your surrender.” She met herself, not in cold mirrors, but in the trembling hush of ancient trees, in the ache beneath forgotten songs, in the boy she once was, before the world demanded she choose between breath and belonging. She bowed not to queens, but unstitched their crowns, thread by sacred thread, until all that remained was dust, and the infinite silence of grace. And when she reached the edge, there was no light, no voice, no door. Only her own heartbeat: steady, eternal like the first drop of rain falling on a city that forgot her name, but still remembers her soul.

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Alice was never a girl

They called her Alice, but perhaps her true name was Smoke, rising slow and silent from letters never sent, from altars crumbled beneath the cold gaze of forgotten saints, from lips that kissed her only to still her breath. She did not fall. She transcended. There is a sacred difference, between shattering and choosing the void. She stepped beyond the back of her own reflection, where silver fractures whispered secrets older than time’s first prayer, and her eyes held the quiet sorrow of gods who have forgotten mercy. The wormhole was no place, but an unspoken hymn, a rift in the fabric of becoming, curved like a question too holy for a mother’s voice, too fragile for an angel’s touch. No rabbits greeted her, only warnings draped in silence, clocks weeping timeless tears, knowing the pain of counting souls that vanish between moments. In that other world, she wore her scars like relics, held her shadow like a prayer, whispering softly, “I forgive the absence of your surrender.” She met herself, not in cold mirrors, but in the trembling hush of ancient trees, in the ache beneath forgotten songs, in the boy she once was, before the world demanded she choose between breath and belonging. She bowed not to queens, but unstitched their crowns, thread by sacred thread, until all that remained was dust, and the infinite silence of grace. And when she reached the edge, there was no light, no voice, no door. Only her own heartbeat: steady, eternal like the first drop of rain falling on a city that forgot her name, but still remembers her soul.