Scratch That.
He was incomparable.
Scratch that.
He was perfect.
Scratch that too.
He was more perfect,
Than a sunrise on a winter morning,
Or a rainfall on an autumn day,
Where the leaves dance in the wind,
And fill the sky with life.
More perfect than a flower,
That breaks through the cracks,
Of a concret garden,
And brings color to the air.
He was more perfect,
Than any poem thats ever been written.
He was perfect.
Scratch that.
He still is.