draft of loneliness of a different kind

can you hear that? its the sound of silence
but not the kind paul and art sing of
its the kind that seeps into your soul
into your very being, stealing your very life away
its the kind that creeps up on you at night
while the TV flashes the false lives
of those we pretend to know
penguins and humans are so alike yet different
the black and white life of a penguin
is something only we can watch in the movies
where no matter the complications and trials
at the end of the feature presentation
all go home happy and to where they should
isn’t art supposed to imitate life?
it doesn’t
in life we try to imitate the art we create
and fail miserably as lives fall apart before us