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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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Cold. It's the only word that seems to fit your mold But my heart is as young as your heart is bold I beg to fly, I beg to go- This land is old. The shimmering dust, your ice-capped lust That keeps its hold. I can't contain the sheets of ice beneath my eyes I love the chill but never wanted your black ice- Vice- It seems the word, the main component of your heart With just enough of love to tear my own apart, I’m letting go, this daily dance is getting old Just let me, once, escape the onset of this cold. Here- The warmth of summer comes offering gowns of gold With shadows skitting quickly, struggling towards the cold Warmth- Your being crumbles as the light comes dancing o’er The questions hanging, asking what I’m still here for- Then you come near, frostbite my ear And whate’er I’m told I’ll follow you back to your dark lands of… Cold. The silver clouds, they whisper secrets untold. My fingers frozen- melting? - in your hold I feel the sleet, the silver snow But I just want that gold. (I close my eyes, which you despise, My dreams unfold), But dreams can’t live while frozen in your ice-caked arms No, nothing warm can live when trapped in winter’s charms It harms The warm, dark depths of me I try hardest to conceal But the glacier of your body crushes my ideal My feet can’t run, my sentence begun I’ve been paroled. This land of black (or is it white?) my prison hold. Cold.
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