An Anarchic Alliteration

A single shot shatters the sounds of a September sunrise.
As audiences arise, mouths agape in awe and amazement,
Omnipresent overseers, overflowing with oppressive authority, render them oblivious.
War wages, waking a wasteland of weathered wounds,
While citizens sit silenced and sedated, sinking slowly to the shadow of sunrises since sought.
The corrupt carefully and caustically craft contraptions of containment:
Vestibules of vengeance and violence that violate virtuous viewers,
Vortexes of vibrant villainous visions imprison vicarious viewers in vulgar verses of a vile song.
Sinful sirens stupefy the sub-sentient society with these sad sobering songs.
Leaders take ludicrous leaps of faith,
Dueling over drab deserts drenched in dark sludge and frolicking through foreign forests,
Fabricating foes and forcing failure.
The decaying democracy has driven itself into the dirt,
Annihilated and absent of all ambition.
Time tells a tale of tyrannous turmoil--a tale of tens of tenuous trials.
Centuries slide by and the savagery has ceased. Soon, the sun sets,
And a single shot strikes the sky.