Another Failure

I keep seeking music 
in language, meaning
in both; all days

I struggle, most days
I fail, sometimes I catch
a tune, now and then

I fully sing, more rarely
something I sing
moves someone else,

maybe something
has changed somewhere
as a result, though I’m unsure

of that and do not trust
my hope for it. This is
what I am, what I have been,

what I have given myself to — 
and now? Nothing within
feels like music. Nothing within

but noise I’m not skilled enough
to transform, and to sit in silence
hums only of death

which is more meaning
than song,
and no language at all.