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 Strange, yet a reality none the less: the oppressed destroying themselves for the sake of the oppressor. The battle of creatures of the sea has now become that of the humanity of the conquered land. A bizarre misguided catharsis born out of guided mind bending of victims killing selves for the sake of molded daily bread of the oppressor. The dehumanizing of common human bond etched into souls by Middle Passage bondage and stitched into long landed psyche, has yet to be extricated from psychological slave mentality. Its debasing scraping—like the depths of the sea—continues to run deep and wide as the long ago Passage. The sea that spat upon the shores of a strange land, swallowed the anchors of satanic ships laden with remnants of the booty of their sooty cargo; a sooty cargo whose songs made no sense in a strange land. Shackles may be broken and fall clanging from their physical grasping; but minds may remain invisibly chained—unaware. In nature, the causes of demise often remain unseen—veiled. And liberation becomes a misconceived deception; seasoned by the salt of the sea—rather than burning with freedom’s fire! America, a deception in disguise, has revealed herself in reality; but like Iago’s ego, the true self remains among the unknown. Yet she rings the bell of justice till it cracks—stilling its silent tongue; and in veiled blindness hang scales to seek their own balance. They stripped the heaven-ward pole of its clothing; but the colors remain in altered stripes and stars— flushing a noose-like wave in smoke filled skies reeking with the murderous smell of spiraling gun powder residue lingering in air as they echo purity while simultaneously orating mass hued skin perdition. Though we are of the same seed of our brother, Othello, we shall not let this adopted land ‘…roast in sulphur…’ nor be washed ‘…in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire.’ Nay. We are of the soul of the phoenix— rising black doves roosting—plucking feathers of injustice from the bleeding breast of a forgiven nation.
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