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 Still you sit, in the recesses of my dreams. Tugging at the cracks, pulling on the seams. You’d have though, that after all the sand that passed, You’d have faded now. I’d stop looking back. But eyes roam, haunting still the castle of dreams. Tip-tapping down stone, barely touched. Unclean. Your face beams. Guiding moonlight of wayward heart, It’s quite dark now dear, my castle cracks apart. You’re not here, I project your phantom resin. Not you, I’m in love with a harsh lesson. Something long since lost, at greatest of costs. I lost me, somewhere outside the castle walls. Yet still I wonder, these silent stone halls. Can’t even destroy. I’m the architect. Can’t move on, trapped in my own made monolith. The worst gaol is this, labyrinth of time. Castle stands, as shifting sands bow down to glass. Obsidian walls, decked the halls with ass. Lost color, the trail of the phantom Pixie. Orpheus screams out, Zeus knows what about. Hades laughs, that fairy-free world fades to grey. You were never here. Alone here I lay. Were we real? Or are these crimson hands of mine, The death of a dream? Or the death of a lie? Painted in, the fevered ramblings of a fool. I built this tomb, crawl back into womb. Gestate me, placate my tenacious memory. A new me will crawl, through viscera and all. Pixie’s dead. Blood born an amaygdala moo. He lets out a scream, raging fire abyss. Had to die, to let your phantom form mist.
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