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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www.poetrysoup.com - Create a card from your words, quote, or poetry
Fever of the Abyss
Fever of the Abyss My palms catch fire in an instant, an ember waking beneath the skin, and the heat trickles down my soles, nesting quiet in the arch. The blanket that once failed to warm me turns into a smothering shroud, and my body melts into the mattress, wax burning in a stranger's flame. I slip off my silk bonnet slowly — a knot, a crown of thorns, and the room spins in the darkness, a wheel without an axle. I sink and float all at once in the hands of an undecided god, my eyelids are heavy stones, yet the old jazz rocks me gently. As the music climbs toward its peak, I bury myself behind my eyes, my fingers claw at the emptiness — a void with no face, no name, my feet push upward, as if against a river flowing the wrong way, and my heart, whispering in the dark, begs a sign from the silent abyss: "Reveal yourself, o great abyss, from whom all things were born, judge me, mortal wanderer, lost in your shoreless sleep." My arms catch a tangled vine, a rope swaying in the wind, and just as I start to climb toward the light, it snaps with a hollow crack. I wake up gasping, cold sweat running down my forehead like dew, the clock says noon, but the cold inside me won't leave. The sun creeps through the window, fighting the papers taped up against it, gentle tentacles of light — and still, I feel nothing but cold.
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