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 The curtain hangs half-open, welcoming daybreak. Outside—a rooster screams the day open, reciting yesternight’s moans. A lizard on my window nods, as if he knows our sins. He’s seen lovers before— & he knows fire does not forgive the log it loves. The sheets lie still, like elders sipping a story too sacred for the young. Your scent kneels in the unholy authority of my room, like a prayer mat after dawn. It refuses to leave, for it knows— last night, like others, had no long-term goal. My mind revisits episodes of last night, like two birds wrestling in a cloud. Our wings were tied by the string of want. One fell; the other followed on top, because even falling can be fellowship. My ex once said silence grows teeth when you keep feeding it memory. So my teeth reach into Jericho, before you whispered, “don’t wake the river inside me— it still dreams of rain.” But I was already drifting, too far for salvation, as I stared at Jericho like an open wound that refuses to bleed. You moaned for morning glory, and the security dog barked—a note of disbelief. Somewhere, the sun began to burn the world. But in here, my lust turned into bread— you, the yeast. Each second hammered in like a clout nail into the dark and quiet. This river will never forget this mouth that drank from it. In the middle of my own weather, I paused—watching raindrops that never touched the ground. I’m done, and tired. Even wisdom grows weary of being right. My pillow has folded itself into the shape of your head, writing the psalms of this event. The day yawns wide, as if to say softly: you are a fool of warmth. I press my lips to the cup you used. It is cold now. The taste of coffee and presence sits at the bottom like truth— truth that I am a fool of warmth.
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