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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We'Re All Hungry Ghosts
How intoxicated I am with the swirl of armies, bodies and armor. Trampled by those running away from or running to war. But we're all hungry ghosts, moving towards our deaths with a casual sense, as if passersby to an accident. I think of her and smelling her wrist, whilst she slept next to a fallen statue of a grieving angel, half-male half-female image we both found beautiful. I loved how she was bothered by the routine of life, needing a present of flowers in an old jar, set on table to see as she glided down the steps, carpet worn and faded. The swirl of a half-translucent dress as she passes through sunlight, feels my eyes upon her and smiles. Dust dances in a column of light and scatters, as she moves from darkness to me. Woman is the word for god on the lips and hearts for all men, and I close my eyes. (I can feel her next to me like a premonition on a deserted street). Now, in the rubbish of hours and in a land of blue sky and wretchedness, I wonder who she smiles for. Ah, in the distance I hear adhan. In the distance. All these other things, worthless, vague dreams, only half remembered cares without destination or purpose, were never as real as the vision of her promise. A worthless sacrifice, a horrible choice. Was love something I dreamt, while wrapped in oil, felt and darkness? Now, only my dreams feel the footsteps of longing, hobnail echoed, baked in clay, and I awake confused, strange. Like the seconds between flash to bang, I know love to loss. But for now, I blink as the rising pink orange of the sun, suddenly lights the sky and surrounding to a blood red, burnt to goldness the color of mustard fields, shining animated as reflections on the desert, shine, shine blinding into my sleep heavy eyes.
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things