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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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Each year I met September with its calico seals of Samhain slain in a fair death and bled by symptoms of naked hours and loneliness. I shivered with a strange dread, not of predator or prey but the threat of being siphoned too deeply, into a predictable, mass identity. I found myself swathed in an impatient void where sepia changelings twisted against wind in contempt of order and the chronological sequences of life and death and I listened to the rebellious gossip of familiar moon-light Chimeras edged with infant shadows. I was enchanted by the chaplains of the night and the deacons of depression that taught me a kinship with black sheep and the dead. Perhaps I should have obeyed the wisdom of the herd, and worshiped the pathogenic scriptures of text-book institutions... focused my eyes ahead, my mind on predetermined points my thoughts on the packaged values of dead heros. The world would have loved me if I had fed into its perception of human perfection instead of showing it its potential for failure... there are no heroes without the herd. I could have left the insanity of my adolescence behind instead of clinging to ashes and an ember of left-over youth tucked into a heavy envelope and sealed with the promise of an inferno.

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There Are No Heroes Without the Herd

Each year I met September with its calico seals of Samhain slain in a fair death and bled by symptoms of naked hours and loneliness. I shivered with a strange dread, not of predator or prey but the threat of being siphoned too deeply, into a predictable, mass identity. I found myself swathed in an impatient void where sepia changelings twisted against wind in contempt of order and the chronological sequences of life and death and I listened to the rebellious gossip of familiar moon-light Chimeras edged with infant shadows. I was enchanted by the chaplains of the night and the deacons of depression that taught me a kinship with black sheep and the dead. Perhaps I should have obeyed the wisdom of the herd, and worshiped the pathogenic scriptures of text-book institutions... focused my eyes ahead, my mind on predetermined points my thoughts on the packaged values of dead heros. The world would have loved me if I had fed into its perception of human perfection instead of showing it its potential for failure... there are no heroes without the herd. I could have left the insanity of my adolescence behind instead of clinging to ashes and an ember of left-over youth tucked into a heavy envelope and sealed with the promise of an inferno.