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 In the desolate temple of the soul, flesh weaves over bone a silent epitaph, Spirits lock thought within the ark of thought, and sometimes, a divine spark, And women in furies pour vessels into fragments of petrified walls, While men submerge self in the deluge of the endless bitter draught, No one unravels another's enigma—and yet we wander, undeterred in our search, A feast of pain among the shroud of other silent dreams. Flesh beside bone, and flesh calling for more than earthly caresses. There’s not a sliver of luck to emerge, We are prisoners of the same unanimous fatality. No one ever rediscovers that lost half. The refuges of cities gorge on their refuse, And windows of pain become filled, Madhouses come alive, Hospitals spread their beds, And cemeteries weep for the dead. And yet nothing else fills the voids. On this unanointed altar of the body cloaking the skeleton, Minds wrap their writhings in flesh paper, And now and then, a wisp of soul persists, Queens shatter the jugs of pretentious pledged barriers, Thirsty men sink their being into seas of deceitful wine, And no heart finds its sunset in another's dawn, Despite the journey, we lay amongst the pale napkins of other's dreams. Carnal tissue embracing the bone—and the tissue chasing after more than dusty sensuality. Not a thread of hope becomes visible in this stupor, We are captives in one piercing prescription of destiny. No soul ever uncovers that forever misplaced love. The city's debris open their nostrils to plenty, And the material world perfects its imprint, Asylums echo with a chorus of commotion, Hospitals interlace sufferings, And cemeteries crowd their silence. No other space finds a cure to fill the vast emptiness.
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