Also, it's possible to be immortal yet still relatively unknown. When you write a poem or create any work of art, you are creating an object or a thing that exists and represents you without the continuing assistance of your heart, brain, flesh and blood. When you write and publish, you are taking some portion of your soul that is currently bound to your mortal self and placing it into a new container that will outlast its flesh container. So the very act of creating a poem that succeeds in encapsulating something of your humanity creates a form of immortality.
Of course, that's not the same thing as being immortally famous. It's possible that these little immortal chunks of your personhood will not interest many people in the future. The poems survive, in the sense that they are available to anyone who is interested, but that doesn't mean people will want to read them.
But here's the thing. Posterity may not recognize you as the new Shakespeare, and your name may not become a household word, but every now and then someone may happen across one of your poems and read it and like it and identify with it. Your poems will be available to show who you were long after you yourself are not available to do so, since pushing up daisies is a full-time occupation.
So be glad. You do achieve immortality through your poems after all. Unfortunately, though, no one may care.
But if you're in it for the praise and feel bad to think people won't be praising you after you're dead, why not settle for the consolation prize of being praised while you're alive, if you can manage it? Praise is best when you still have the ability to blush and say thank you.
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