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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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She removes her hands from her face to reveal harlequin tears strolling down salt colored cheeks that glare with a thin layer of blush. Green eyes gloss over and pour out in public. Her boyfriend carries on. He laughs and he plays, while she sits next, while her entirety bleeds out in salt water ectoplasm. She runs her hands through firey red and orange dyed hair. Her eyes dry; take a look inside and one can see her hurt. She hurts, she hurts, she hurts. If the eyes are windows, I can look through and see a monster. It jumps from organ to organ. The monster climbs ontop, punches, digs its long, yellow nails into each. We've all suffered that monster. It's a distilled sickness that wears a cloak of paranoia, rests it over one's shoulders to watch them squirm. A common ailment we have all experienced, or will. I have, You have, The potbellied harlot on Main St. The teachers, The Cubans, The old Russians. Fret not, For with the expulsion of this lunatic demon Comes life, Comes wisdom, Comes strength, Comes a new appreciation. So raise your chin, young cherub, look up child, young, fragile darling. Your day looms anxiously as it waits to blanket you. One day, you will meet the King Of Men. He will shine bright in your teary eyes. Think high, apple blossom. Wade on through your tears; allow yourself the chance to bloom.

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Lunchroom Tears

She removes her hands from her face to reveal harlequin tears strolling down salt colored cheeks that glare with a thin layer of blush. Green eyes gloss over and pour out in public. Her boyfriend carries on. He laughs and he plays, while she sits next, while her entirety bleeds out in salt water ectoplasm. She runs her hands through firey red and orange dyed hair. Her eyes dry; take a look inside and one can see her hurt. She hurts, she hurts, she hurts. If the eyes are windows, I can look through and see a monster. It jumps from organ to organ. The monster climbs ontop, punches, digs its long, yellow nails into each. We've all suffered that monster. It's a distilled sickness that wears a cloak of paranoia, rests it over one's shoulders to watch them squirm. A common ailment we have all experienced, or will. I have, You have, The potbellied harlot on Main St. The teachers, The Cubans, The old Russians. Fret not, For with the expulsion of this lunatic demon Comes life, Comes wisdom, Comes strength, Comes a new appreciation. So raise your chin, young cherub, look up child, young, fragile darling. Your day looms anxiously as it waits to blanket you. One day, you will meet the King Of Men. He will shine bright in your teary eyes. Think high, apple blossom. Wade on through your tears; allow yourself the chance to bloom.