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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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Through a blurred mirror a person can vaguely see distorted reality, subjectivity with vague silhouettes of truth dancing with fantasy. The world is such a vast place, black and dreary; infinite number of interpretations of the same bleak and eternal space. I've always attempted in notebooks to draw the stars, this space, even in the day time, for I knew that even in the masking of the sun that the stars in their grandeur were always there. I did not entirely understand their chaos; I understood that chaos and order were similar, but the actual concept of disorder, of mayhem, always seemed to be on the peripherals of thought. Perhaps this stemmed from a youthful mind, one that is still naïve and ignorant of such universal truths, or perhaps I was not smart enough; but I always seemed the one ahead of my classmates, even teachers. No matter, no matter. It was not important to understand why there was no comprehension, only to understand the defining concept itself. These idling eyes, these apparitions of blank faces, ignorant to the truths of the real world, hidden in black silhouettes that shield thought. How I abhor such people! How thankful am I that I was born with a great mind! What a shame it would be if I were born normal. I was always called abnormal, special—at age three I solved a large puzzle; age eight: read the dictionary; sixteen: calculus. What a beautiful mind what a beautiful mind! How great it would be to pick his mind, to find the underlying entropy that causes brilliance… entropy… Why does the moon sit so low in the night to choreograph the waves and paint the shore in speckled gold? But that can be answered. But why does physics exist? What makes physics work? Why do we do sit here, static and cold; not walk backwards and hover in the clouds with the birds? Simple physics. But why the physics? Is there physics behind physics? Metaphysics? Meta-metaphysics? Is eternity the answer? It could be… What gives rise to the geometric planes and the points of the stars? Eternity? Why does the moon hang like it does, almost kiss the earth? Eternity, Eternity. And the stars, they could be eternal also; even when they are dead, eternity may still envelop them. I went back to mapping the stars in his notebook. Blank stares of the students in their black silhouettes: eternity. Some intrusive light from the sun broke the silence of the somber darkness; the inattentiveness of the students, their rusty eyelids now forced to creak open.

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Ramblings -- Ii

Through a blurred mirror a person can vaguely see distorted reality, subjectivity with vague silhouettes of truth dancing with fantasy. The world is such a vast place, black and dreary; infinite number of interpretations of the same bleak and eternal space. I've always attempted in notebooks to draw the stars, this space, even in the day time, for I knew that even in the masking of the sun that the stars in their grandeur were always there. I did not entirely understand their chaos; I understood that chaos and order were similar, but the actual concept of disorder, of mayhem, always seemed to be on the peripherals of thought. Perhaps this stemmed from a youthful mind, one that is still naïve and ignorant of such universal truths, or perhaps I was not smart enough; but I always seemed the one ahead of my classmates, even teachers. No matter, no matter. It was not important to understand why there was no comprehension, only to understand the defining concept itself. These idling eyes, these apparitions of blank faces, ignorant to the truths of the real world, hidden in black silhouettes that shield thought. How I abhor such people! How thankful am I that I was born with a great mind! What a shame it would be if I were born normal. I was always called abnormal, special—at age three I solved a large puzzle; age eight: read the dictionary; sixteen: calculus. What a beautiful mind what a beautiful mind! How great it would be to pick his mind, to find the underlying entropy that causes brilliance… entropy… Why does the moon sit so low in the night to choreograph the waves and paint the shore in speckled gold? But that can be answered. But why does physics exist? What makes physics work? Why do we do sit here, static and cold; not walk backwards and hover in the clouds with the birds? Simple physics. But why the physics? Is there physics behind physics? Metaphysics? Meta-metaphysics? Is eternity the answer? It could be… What gives rise to the geometric planes and the points of the stars? Eternity? Why does the moon hang like it does, almost kiss the earth? Eternity, Eternity. And the stars, they could be eternal also; even when they are dead, eternity may still envelop them. I went back to mapping the stars in his notebook. Blank stares of the students in their black silhouettes: eternity. Some intrusive light from the sun broke the silence of the somber darkness; the inattentiveness of the students, their rusty eyelids now forced to creak open.