As blood which leave a trace

Can we call ourselves artists or even poetess?
This is just art, to free the burdens of the mind,
To try to give rest to the wondering restless mind,
And to leave a Trace of our lives not only posters.

By trying to read this, it will add to your own burdens
Because you will think and you will wonder alone or with another,
And you can even wish we were together, forever with no others
Yet this is just a reflection of my burden.

As blood which leave a trace trough off-springs
So is also our lives, a trace through ink and paper.
The pleasure of relieving this burden through pen and paper,
take my restless mind to the sweet springs.

Reader of this peace of art so fair natural and classic,
I know you will tell them of this work which i wrote in pain.
The gain, time will tell if its vain.
Sometimes, it can be tragic.