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 I call it a palace - my life - gilded and draped in fine silks, where chandeliers shine like false smiles, And the walls echo laughter that isn't mine, but beneath the velvet curtains lies the bruise of silence, a scream stitched with silver thread. The hand that feeds wears rings - daggers with diamond tips hidden in affection, offering bread soaked in venom, Each bite a betrayal masked as care, it builds me in marble grace, then carves my soul with every whisper. I am the sculptor of dreams they present to the world, the architect of their tower-high pride, but my fingers bleed in the shadows, Amputated from applause, like the slaves who carved cathedrals and were buried under their glory, I too am buried in perfection. They say "You have everything", yes, everything but warmth, I sleep in a golden cradle that rocks on cold stone floors, Love is just a painting on these walls - framed, admired, never truly felt in my frozen heart. This house of mirrors reflects only masks, and I - just another cracked reflection - smile as if I'm stitched at the edges, While my heart writes elegies in secret, for what is comfort without care, a throne without touch, when the hand that feeds, Is the hand that kills - slowly, smiling, saying "I love you" through clenched teeth, building a palace of thorns and pain? I am the prisoner of my own perfection, crowned with golden laurels that wound my brow, a king captive in his own glory. Each compliment is a brick in the wall that separates me from true happiness, each praise - a new step towards isolation, And I, the royal child raised in abundance, hunger for a crumb of authentic affection, an embrace without pretense. In this palace of thorns, each rose hides a wound, each mirror reflects a lie, and I am captive in my own story, A prince of sadness in a world of gold and crystal, dreaming of the freedom others consider poverty, but which for me would be wealth.
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