Every step I take there you are,

dark corners etched with fear and disillusions

tongue-tied and confused;

anxious my thoughts roll on without punctuation

somewhere there is rhyme and reason but still no punctuation

to separate my days from more days with the same timing.

When he died I was shocked at the outpouring of concern and grief,

and then you die and I sit here befuddled at the concept.

Seems like you have turned a very different corner for no apparent reason.

lmh/12.2616