However, if it sparkles with promise,
glistens with sharp wit,
or gleams with visionary zeal
polish it carefully
so as not to lessen its intensity.
See if the atoms are excited
by specific wavelengths.
Try ultra-violet, infra-red.
Does it light up like a beacon?
Burn like a bonfire?
Warm like nurturing hands?
Then you’ve a good to excellent
piece of work, though limited.
At worst it will impress your friends;
at best entrance a large minority.
Keep it and make sure it appears in print.
These are the cornerstones
of many poets’ careers.

But if it’s that marvelous anomaly
which occurs a few times every century,
burns brighter than Blake’s tiger,
emits irresistible waves of gravity,
you’ve created a great star,
perhaps even a nova
which will illuminate whole worlds
before it flickers out.
You can continue writing
hoping for a binary twin,
or rest, secure in your accomplishment
because, from that alone,
you’ve become a sort of god,
a salient source whose fame will last
through countless turns of pages,
numerous changes of venue
til some beyond-postmodern diety,
an all-surpassing luminary,
rises out of new dimensions to outshine you.