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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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By~Krish I opened my eyes and the air was a still lake that would no longer ripple for me. My breath was a whisper, a moth beating tired wings against the glass of existence. They stood beside me, their tears pooling like rain in the fragile valleys beneath their eyes, and I knew, by the tremor in their silence, that I was already leaning across the border of life. The rhythm machine sang its slow, mechanical song beep… … …beep each note falling heavier, as if the sound itself were sinking into the floor. I could hear the footsteps beyond the white door, soft thuds like cautious heartbeats from strangers in another world. And then the tide of my consciousness began to retreat. I floated, weightless, between a darkness that hummed like midnight rivers and a light that breathed like morning clouds. It was calm. It was the kind of peace that tucks you in without asking if you are ready to sleep. Through the haze, trees appeared the neem trees at the gates of my school, their leaves whispering the same green gossip they’d told the wind decades ago. I stepped forward. The air was the same sharp and herbal, as if it had bottled time in its scent. It was quiet noisy the buzz of distant laughter, the creak of swings, the shuffle of school shoes folded together like an untuned orchestra. And then... I saw him. Every sound died as if the world had bitten its own tongue. The only note left was my heartbeat, thudding like a slow drum in a vast canyon. He walked toward me a bouquet cradled in his hands, tulips, pure white, so soft they looked as if clouds had bent down to bloom in his arms. His eyes were bright galaxies, his gaze a thread pulling me closer. He called my name, and his voice ... oh, his voice ... was spun sugar melting in sunlight. He was the most tender soul I had ever met. But somewhere inside me a truth whispered: This is not real. Because on that birthday I had gone home early, and he had never found me here. I realized perhaps he had waited for hours by the school gate, flowers trembling in his grasp, searching the crowd for a face that never came. And as my thoughts rippled with guilt, the air around us emptied. The noise of the playground slid off into nothing. We stood alone, just him and me, in the schoolyard of memory. “The tale has only unwrapped its first tear...the rest still shimmers in the silence ahead.”

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The Last Five Senses '1

By~Krish I opened my eyes and the air was a still lake that would no longer ripple for me. My breath was a whisper, a moth beating tired wings against the glass of existence. They stood beside me, their tears pooling like rain in the fragile valleys beneath their eyes, and I knew, by the tremor in their silence, that I was already leaning across the border of life. The rhythm machine sang its slow, mechanical song beep… … …beep each note falling heavier, as if the sound itself were sinking into the floor. I could hear the footsteps beyond the white door, soft thuds like cautious heartbeats from strangers in another world. And then the tide of my consciousness began to retreat. I floated, weightless, between a darkness that hummed like midnight rivers and a light that breathed like morning clouds. It was calm. It was the kind of peace that tucks you in without asking if you are ready to sleep. Through the haze, trees appeared the neem trees at the gates of my school, their leaves whispering the same green gossip they’d told the wind decades ago. I stepped forward. The air was the same sharp and herbal, as if it had bottled time in its scent. It was quiet noisy the buzz of distant laughter, the creak of swings, the shuffle of school shoes folded together like an untuned orchestra. And then... I saw him. Every sound died as if the world had bitten its own tongue. The only note left was my heartbeat, thudding like a slow drum in a vast canyon. He walked toward me a bouquet cradled in his hands, tulips, pure white, so soft they looked as if clouds had bent down to bloom in his arms. His eyes were bright galaxies, his gaze a thread pulling me closer. He called my name, and his voice ... oh, his voice ... was spun sugar melting in sunlight. He was the most tender soul I had ever met. But somewhere inside me a truth whispered: This is not real. Because on that birthday I had gone home early, and he had never found me here. I realized perhaps he had waited for hours by the school gate, flowers trembling in his grasp, searching the crowd for a face that never came. And as my thoughts rippled with guilt, the air around us emptied. The noise of the playground slid off into nothing. We stood alone, just him and me, in the schoolyard of memory. “The tale has only unwrapped its first tear...the rest still shimmers in the silence ahead.”