The Pearl (on Peter's Question)...c/c please. Thank you?

Benny, it is significant I think that you have written this poem and that I am answering it. I have long looked on writing a poem of surpassing aesthetic quality as a sort of holy quest, and have when work permitted devoted myself to the proposition with considerable zeal. I have come to the conclusion 'greatness' should be left to others to identify. If you are a poet, in the truest sense, you will master with relative ease the technical craft of poetry, itself a formidable accomplishment for those less driven. You will perhaps even learn the language of inanimate things, and with your altered consciousness and way of seeing embrace a world other men will never see, unless it is through the exigency of your sacred words. But by the time you have accomplished these things, your quest for 'perfection' is already doomed. You no longer can gain satisfaction or fulfillment by comparing what you have accomplished with the standards of the past. You do not strive toward them but rather toward some mythic Olympus, or perhaps Helicon itself. You now judge all you produce unreasonably against the absolute limits of your art form and you are bound to fail, a poor creature whose consciousness is wedded to a limited and limiting neural architecture. I have helped to push you along this path, and for every one of the beauties you have known fleetingly, there is heartbreak and frustration lying beneath. My friend, the lotus itself blooms amidst the filth of the world, and if you can embrace beauty and misery, and count them the same without being destroyed by doing so, you may write the great poem of your dreams. Even then, if you are like me, you will selfishly protect it from the eyes of others. I have a poem of 360 lines — "The Horns" — that far surpasses anything I've ever posted here. I write sonnets in as little as two minutes, but I spent almost a year on this poem. For me, it is the culmination of a lifetime of learning and writing, and one day, after I die and bequeath it, my poem may take its place alongside the best. But not now, not while I'm living. It will be my gift to the world, and my vengeance on it.