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 Sunsphere Sunsphere, purple to orange, yellow in the middle, setting at the rear. Behind the wheel, gripping the steel, Apollo, anxious, scans for falling flowers along the roadside. My petal scent permeates the Lumina — maroon in colour, interior tone matching. It is his ride, our style. I will never leave, even if we wreck at breakneck speed. I’ve got the need; he’s got the deed. My own Jimmy Dean — flashing red and green, amber and lean, colours of the scene, of the chase. The urban heart paces its own race to the climax, where it might end, where it might dissolve away in a state of perfect pink bliss. The body’s calibrated systems all lined up for twenty seconds of elation. I tune the station. He smiles at the recognition. This song carried us along — all the pit stops, all the speed bumps. It first played eons past: sweet sixteen, neon skies blast green wonder overhead. He was not there; we had not met. A song that touched the loneliness inside. I realized I was not like everyone else; I excommunicated myself. And when I found him, I denied this song existed. It reminded me of that time before my heart enlisted in the endless dream. I pretended I had never experienced sadness. I was in pure spirit — not doctored by my own health or chemistry. I was strong, untouched by the dirty empires. But it was false. I had already fallen in the mud. Music was the rope holding me close. No one offered their arms, no one offered their charms to save me from dismay. I clung to whole notes and registers — treble and bass. I only had theory to seal my edges. I was not restrained, not in feeling nor in the larynx. I was fixated on expression, the lexicon of my wounded soul. He smiles at the remembrance as the song plays again — not because the lyrics are happy or because it calls back pleasant polaroids. We are still here, cohabiting the vessel of our escapade, together, rolling through the hills of sonic recollection. And here, in the passenger seat of an old Chevy, I can finally name my sorrow I can let the tears rise if they wanted to break the levy of my eyes — forest-coloured iris — if I had reason to cry
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