The Battle of the Gods from the Fallen Heavens

Emerald scape tantalizing through whims of jezebel yellow--pertinent pulses, rhythms of Adam--genteel blue: the meshing of mesmers, figment foreign and orange and golden like embers and the flames like sirens.
Sirens, in stride, engaging in delirious romance, but it is some maddening infatuation: jubilant resistance to form. No victor: only victory.
The sway of tranquil breath through endless meadow--the swoon uncertain and vulnerable, the tender glances, the realms of enthrallment serenade emblazoned in ephemerality...
All was once entrained to Majesty.

Within the lucid haze of pastel hues the Sun was enthroned as King, orchestrating the many movements of cosmic grace--undulations that brought all to life and versed into grandeur.

The Dragon, before becoming the Great Dragon, was loyal and rewarded but in eerie consequence, ensoulment turned wretched as a sordid hubris took helm and, in pompous vision, the Angel sought the King's crown.

And like renegade, the great battle of the Heavens began as the Angel's celestial nature was decidingly denounced and the Dragon emerged in lusty denomination, jeering the heaven's luscious hues and leaving a blackness, an emptiness, for in this chase for merely forms, void was created--the empassioned reds never seen, the end of phantasm--the foreboding vividness, the entrance of duality.

A new entity of brush stroke emerged in the canvass of the heaven, the Dragon wrought to take the throne, but the escape of ensoulment brought about the strife of discord and in fallen grace the Great Dragon descended from the Heavens and jeered the Earth entirely, bringing about Waters that once exalted the Sun's order but now stammering the concrescence, but all was once entrained to Majesty.