The storm, it comes

...starving birds sing warning word of thinning winds of howling thrash to come to cull the beasts of low and those of high alike, 
..the strong would last but one breath more, 
but if to breath is just to breath of powdered glass 
and suffer through as witness to this dying light 
then in that breath to long to not be strong would seem the right.. 
but then would not the wrong be life?
and so the strong by own accord
would slit their hardened throats 
and turn their beaches red before 
those winds could reach their shores
...and in one night, 
the birds could feast
and the weak would be as lords