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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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The Creed A crested lark rises in to the window In the bittersweet rendezvous of a vow, And my fear passes, For it is in the free fall of our landing, its chord colliding into the road, The sweet sovereignty of a caged bird freed. He is bold, an arulean flame, The black phoenix with piercing gold eyes, As to look into the soul of Man, by the Whisper of his name. There is a call to port, the sound of muster. It is not a sledge, not a call of arms, or clash of titans, but a brother in arms, and rather, the confident laugh of a comrade. He is mighty, a strengthened arm, The flame of the Red Cross with piercing blue eyes, As to hear into the word of Man, by the Mention of his name. There is gold in the sky, and at our feet. It is a sledge, a selection, a broken arrow, a burned statue, a torched flag. It is a fallen hero. There is an ominous sound of defeat, the sound of silence, It is a sledge, A call to pay tribute, or to triumph as titans A beautiful, soldier of arms fallen, and rather, my might is strengthened. But my boots are worn, Of a previous bunk assignment and its barrack mate, And my uniform is disheveled For they were my fathers And his father’s father of late. Her tongue is short, Petty in its manner as a a cruel schoolgirl’s is to do, And she is the crisp April tide, Surging forward with my frame, In a slumber within the waves of its wake. For, Liberty, she is resonance, the strength of my voice, The trinity of its oath with piercing gold eyes, As to resound the will of Man, by the Mention of his name. And the tyrant, like the first rogue of its origin falls, The metal barricade falls, the rod upon its mortar, And as the crown falls from its coronate, The line runs along the narrow corridor of tyranny's exile, And in all of its combustion, The sweet sovereignty of freedom reigns of the tyrant defied And of the uncaged psalm freed, our creed at last, rising and falling to the air. For, I am the unfallen, not once that which once was, -but that which will rise to fight again for I am the oath of triumph.

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Active Duty: the Comrade's Creed

The Creed A crested lark rises in to the window In the bittersweet rendezvous of a vow, And my fear passes, For it is in the free fall of our landing, its chord colliding into the road, The sweet sovereignty of a caged bird freed. He is bold, an arulean flame, The black phoenix with piercing gold eyes, As to look into the soul of Man, by the Whisper of his name. There is a call to port, the sound of muster. It is not a sledge, not a call of arms, or clash of titans, but a brother in arms, and rather, the confident laugh of a comrade. He is mighty, a strengthened arm, The flame of the Red Cross with piercing blue eyes, As to hear into the word of Man, by the Mention of his name. There is gold in the sky, and at our feet. It is a sledge, a selection, a broken arrow, a burned statue, a torched flag. It is a fallen hero. There is an ominous sound of defeat, the sound of silence, It is a sledge, A call to pay tribute, or to triumph as titans A beautiful, soldier of arms fallen, and rather, my might is strengthened. But my boots are worn, Of a previous bunk assignment and its barrack mate, And my uniform is disheveled For they were my fathers And his father’s father of late. Her tongue is short, Petty in its manner as a a cruel schoolgirl’s is to do, And she is the crisp April tide, Surging forward with my frame, In a slumber within the waves of its wake. For, Liberty, she is resonance, the strength of my voice, The trinity of its oath with piercing gold eyes, As to resound the will of Man, by the Mention of his name. And the tyrant, like the first rogue of its origin falls, The metal barricade falls, the rod upon its mortar, And as the crown falls from its coronate, The line runs along the narrow corridor of tyranny's exile, And in all of its combustion, The sweet sovereignty of freedom reigns of the tyrant defied And of the uncaged psalm freed, our creed at last, rising and falling to the air. For, I am the unfallen, not once that which once was, -but that which will rise to fight again for I am the oath of triumph.