The Symphony of Wreaths

Struggling alive, and with ease, dying well
Conscious of a swell scattered about the ground
Beyond a convoluted fog
Betrothed to a kind of thickened air
Often I'd stand, frozen in the graying breeze
Wondering if Heaven’s wanderings would be as wonderful to me
Dare I say that I'd eventually thaw myself
But if I had to stay, I'd find myself as evenly strewn
Living again with only the eons to mold away the shape of my grave
Echoes fading as sounds from life replay
Nailing my bones to the bottom of this Earthly mound
Hidden away from the symphony of wreaths
Beckoning me to try on his tumultuous crown