To be a poem

With words a picture painted
Thoughts splashed across the canvas
never sure of its intentions
Perhaps brought forth from all dimensions
They are order built from chaos
A structured web of cognition
A force to be used to bring together
Or morbidly cause division
A rhyme to make similar those that are different
to poke holes or patch those been found in the system
A master of conscious and feelings and words
can whip up concoctions revealed to the herds
A message or nonsense, no rules or restraints
No poet is bad but all bound by complaints
With form or to be formless
To be wise or naive
to be love or to be hatred
To be fire or breeze
The only connection from one to another
their meaning is subject to whoever utters
the context, the purpose
if any were had
If thoughts come to mind, find a pen and a pad
they're something of value if not worth a lot
no matter the matter just give it a jot
A preference questioned is loss of authenticity
As long as it's truth can't fault your lack of ubiquity