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.
Enter Title (Not Required)
Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required By Year Of Eighty, national maps were burning into ghost, And borders melted from the plains down to the iron coast. The pain of one was pain for all; you could not shield your heart, And so the body cast aside its armored, fractured part. Lysander’s chest, once tightly bound by narrow maintenance zones, Expanded with a lighter breath that dissolved the heavy stones. His lungs forgot the sulfur taste, forgot the powdered rust, As crystalline networks cleaned the planet's toxic dust. He rose out of the elevator shaft, his ancient, sunken floor, To stand beneath a changing sky that was not iron anymore. The bruised and heavy grey had turned to topaz in the night, And down his elongated arms, the moss left tracks of light. His crooked back began to straighten, lifting toward the sky, As if a hidden hand had pulled the willow stalks on high. No longer short or weighted down by ancestral despair, His form grew fluid as a wave, and elegant as air. His skin took on the silver sheen of silicate and dew, Mirroring the architecture where the spires grew. The columns of frozen fire rose from the ash-decay, And Lysander stood beside them, just as luminous as they. The masters of steel were melted down, the warlords turned to dust, Replaced by tall and graceful forms that traded not in trust, But lived within the absolute, transparent tide of thought— The final, silvered monument the First Thread had brought.
Enter Author Name (Not Required)