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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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Out in that sky, no one sleeps, not even the stars. We are at the 24-hour late-nite diner and they’re serving up fruit from the plants growing out of the floor. We watch bodies fall to the ground outside like abyssal creatures surfacing. I look away from you and close my mouth, eat the cherries to confuse the blood in there. It’s too late to stay, but too dark to leave. Now you’re in the only car in the parking lot at midnight and you’re watching me throw pebbles at the stars they hang low in the sky. Out in that sky, no one sleeps. No one. The creatures of space sniff and prowl about their dens. The ethereal lightning bugs will come and change the children who do not dream, and the brokenhearted fugitives will meet on street corners they love living their life. an irresistible pull resting beneath the dark city’s streets.. Some will pretend to rest while incomprehensible thoughts pass overhead. Others dance in the night-light's glow and listen to the stars’ beautiful melody. Where the colors come alive Where the sun is glorious, but the moon, magnificent. Sitting on our green, rusting lawn chairs Waiting for dawn to arrive like a fiery column of light erupting from the ground. The stars move with a passion that only we can see Fulfilling the infinity that must be filled A cosmic wonderland, the sky A playground for the stars The dreamers and believers Wake up they tell me, wake up But why would I? Infected with endless pine trees and foxes aimlessly wandering the green haven the trickle of streams echoing through the woody paradise Birds chirping enthusiastically The unreserved emotion pours out through the bitter touch of the cold wind. After these dreams you wake up to the stars and wonder where you are. My tongue is tied with a god-like force. and silently urged I write this poem. I wasn’t forced to pen this unnatural gem. Metaphorical blackbirds moving around in my metallic birdbath head. Don’t do that! Shriek the malevolent connoisseurs of our existence. If we disobey does that make us anarchists? The anarchists that disgrace the plain of this world, We are not them. Shut down your mind Unplug it and throw it in the trash. It won’t hurt you anymore. Stay away from the dark spots in the room Hazardous moments where it could all end. If we were the monsters of the world, who would expire first? Where do we go? Out in that sky? Not anymore. It’s too dark. They say you don’t like the sadness But the sadness likes you. Clinging, like the sticky stain of raspberry jelly on your kitchen counter. You give yourself an excuse. Shining, like slivers of hope in a midnight of melancholy. Looking at the skyline of the world from A dewy meadow in the rural parts of your mind You love the feel of the early morning’s presence Feeling aware Feeling found Feeling there Feeling proud The soft, easy touch of the fog Inhale Exhale Relive Forget In the night there are of course the seven wonders of the world and greatness, tragedy and enchantment. Forests collide with legendary creatures hiding in thickets. There is you In the night, the sky is real again There is you. In the night, trains and boats move past, dark shapes in the void. and the fantasy of countries where it's daytime. The last breaths of twilight and the first shivers of dawn. There is you. A piano tuning, a shout. A door slams. A clock. And not only beings and things and physical sounds. But also me chasing myself or endlessly going beyond me. There is you It is you that I'm waiting for. Sometimes at the moment of sleep strange figures are born and disappear. When we don’t bother to investigate what happens in our heads And we just let the thoughts run away to distant lands Our magic is gone. When we become the soot-stained buildings in the crowded, smoky city We become the crowd. Same and without uniqueness We must be our own royal palace on the top of the hill. When we look out in that sky It tells us where we are. It tells us where we wish we were and where we wanted to be so very long ago. But we know In the end We are here.

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Out In That Sky

Out in that sky, no one sleeps, not even the stars. We are at the 24-hour late-nite diner and they’re serving up fruit from the plants growing out of the floor. We watch bodies fall to the ground outside like abyssal creatures surfacing. I look away from you and close my mouth, eat the cherries to confuse the blood in there. It’s too late to stay, but too dark to leave. Now you’re in the only car in the parking lot at midnight and you’re watching me throw pebbles at the stars they hang low in the sky. Out in that sky, no one sleeps. No one. The creatures of space sniff and prowl about their dens. The ethereal lightning bugs will come and change the children who do not dream, and the brokenhearted fugitives will meet on street corners they love living their life. an irresistible pull resting beneath the dark city’s streets.. Some will pretend to rest while incomprehensible thoughts pass overhead. Others dance in the night-light's glow and listen to the stars’ beautiful melody. Where the colors come alive Where the sun is glorious, but the moon, magnificent. Sitting on our green, rusting lawn chairs Waiting for dawn to arrive like a fiery column of light erupting from the ground. The stars move with a passion that only we can see Fulfilling the infinity that must be filled A cosmic wonderland, the sky A playground for the stars The dreamers and believers Wake up they tell me, wake up But why would I? Infected with endless pine trees and foxes aimlessly wandering the green haven the trickle of streams echoing through the woody paradise Birds chirping enthusiastically The unreserved emotion pours out through the bitter touch of the cold wind. After these dreams you wake up to the stars and wonder where you are. My tongue is tied with a god-like force. and silently urged I write this poem. I wasn’t forced to pen this unnatural gem. Metaphorical blackbirds moving around in my metallic birdbath head. Don’t do that! Shriek the malevolent connoisseurs of our existence. If we disobey does that make us anarchists? The anarchists that disgrace the plain of this world, We are not them. Shut down your mind Unplug it and throw it in the trash. It won’t hurt you anymore. Stay away from the dark spots in the room Hazardous moments where it could all end. If we were the monsters of the world, who would expire first? Where do we go? Out in that sky? Not anymore. It’s too dark. They say you don’t like the sadness But the sadness likes you. Clinging, like the sticky stain of raspberry jelly on your kitchen counter. You give yourself an excuse. Shining, like slivers of hope in a midnight of melancholy. Looking at the skyline of the world from A dewy meadow in the rural parts of your mind You love the feel of the early morning’s presence Feeling aware Feeling found Feeling there Feeling proud The soft, easy touch of the fog Inhale Exhale Relive Forget In the night there are of course the seven wonders of the world and greatness, tragedy and enchantment. Forests collide with legendary creatures hiding in thickets. There is you In the night, the sky is real again There is you. In the night, trains and boats move past, dark shapes in the void. and the fantasy of countries where it's daytime. The last breaths of twilight and the first shivers of dawn. There is you. A piano tuning, a shout. A door slams. A clock. And not only beings and things and physical sounds. But also me chasing myself or endlessly going beyond me. There is you It is you that I'm waiting for. Sometimes at the moment of sleep strange figures are born and disappear. When we don’t bother to investigate what happens in our heads And we just let the thoughts run away to distant lands Our magic is gone. When we become the soot-stained buildings in the crowded, smoky city We become the crowd. Same and without uniqueness We must be our own royal palace on the top of the hill. When we look out in that sky It tells us where we are. It tells us where we wish we were and where we wanted to be so very long ago. But we know In the end We are here.