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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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I was not shaped by a mother, but by a wet curb, which said: “Take him, Lord, he’s no one’s, maybe it’s some kind of trick.” I learned to comb my sadness with a chipped comb, pulling out memories that pretended to be forgotten, but howled like wolf pups lost under no one’s sky. We were raised in an air that gripped us by the throat whenever we wanted to breathe differently. It is a prison without walls, but it knows exactly where you go, what you dream, and how much you fear the silence. Our bond was never a fairy-tale, it was a strand of barbed wire we crossed barefoot, saying: “at least we bleed together.” The streets? They gave birth to nothing. We taught them to cry, we gave them names, we showed them how to walk beside our hearts without stepping on them. The moon was not ours, but the locked one crept up quietly, put it in his pocket like a secret too heavy to give voice to. The sky turned dark, not completely, just enough for us to feel the collapse of a secret pact. We, with empty hands, learned to hold longing like an old five cent coin, which we deemed worth more than any scrap. The light was not stolen, but saved from forgetting, a fragment of immortality that the locked one took with him, so we would not remain blind. And in his eyes something still flickers, not only pain, but a kind of broken desire that still wants to be light, even without the moon, even in the deepest darkness.

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Under a broken umbrella

I was not shaped by a mother, but by a wet curb, which said: “Take him, Lord, he’s no one’s, maybe it’s some kind of trick.” I learned to comb my sadness with a chipped comb, pulling out memories that pretended to be forgotten, but howled like wolf pups lost under no one’s sky. We were raised in an air that gripped us by the throat whenever we wanted to breathe differently. It is a prison without walls, but it knows exactly where you go, what you dream, and how much you fear the silence. Our bond was never a fairy-tale, it was a strand of barbed wire we crossed barefoot, saying: “at least we bleed together.” The streets? They gave birth to nothing. We taught them to cry, we gave them names, we showed them how to walk beside our hearts without stepping on them. The moon was not ours, but the locked one crept up quietly, put it in his pocket like a secret too heavy to give voice to. The sky turned dark, not completely, just enough for us to feel the collapse of a secret pact. We, with empty hands, learned to hold longing like an old five cent coin, which we deemed worth more than any scrap. The light was not stolen, but saved from forgetting, a fragment of immortality that the locked one took with him, so we would not remain blind. And in his eyes something still flickers, not only pain, but a kind of broken desire that still wants to be light, even without the moon, even in the deepest darkness.