Click at First Sight?

All one can do is hope and wait,
For the editor has the power to delay.
Not much can a poor writer do or say,
Except hope the poem will be a tasty bait.

An unknown reader decides one’s fate,
Crumbs of comfort Keats can provide,
For when alive, from him Fame shied.
Catch poetry’s train? Is it ever too late?

More renown after death got Dickinson
Like Kafka, Plath or G. M. Hopkins.
When alive didn’t get such famous wings:
Poor fiery Shelley or Chatterton.

Those who have the loudest voice
Can be successful if they can get
Mindless followers, fans on the Net,
Which could be some publisher’s choice.

By company’s rules do we have to abide,
Or get left out by the wayside?