Opulence III Laurent Smal

After some time, months, weeks, and days have passed. Changes have been brewing and have only found their moment. Who is, who was, who will now be swept away in grace?

---------------------

That was a day of death for me,
As you left me,
it's been a long time - already the wind drives
The autumn leaves through the streets.

Already glows at your hearth so cozy
The quiet winter fire,
Yet over my soul lies
Even today the black veil.

And in deserted nights often
A shiver runs through me, -
The year of mourning is long over,
When will the mourning end?
(From: Silent Mourning - Karl Stieler, 1842-1885)

---------------------

Laurent Smal presents here once again a masterful composition of the finest raw materials. So much that impressions and expectations are dampened. Loyalty to the past has two faces: My fingerprints remain, ideas mature / My ideas change and my back turns backward.

My previous test of "Opulence | Laurent Smal" and subsequently Opulence III leaves me divided.

* Opulence I: Warm dark Styrax, noble smoke, high-quality woods. Gentle, pleasant, and mature. He knows what he is doing.
* Opulence III: Sweet liqueur-like resin drops, sweet golden amber pearls, sweet incense. Bathed in sweat, turned up, and childish: Sweet, sweeter, smoke. Done.
[With great thanks to F. and S. - feel embraced for the testing opportunity]

(...) It seems to me that the third version has taken over three times the amount of ingredients and transformed it into a monosyllabic fireworks display. There is so much going on here that it becomes simple and monochromatic again. The opulence (alias "power" or "wealth") returns here with colored pencils and leaves no noble impression.

(...) It seems to me that the third version, in contrast to the first version, wants to mention no footprints of its predecessor. Everything is covered up and thrown to the ground at great expense.

In the first moment, a liqueur-sweetened amber rolls over the feet. Closely followed by quintessence grains inviting one to stumble, while viscous barrels syrup the hands. Saffron, noble shrub, are you the culprit, or do you have more accomplices in tow?

(...) As time goes on, it becomes quieter. One has the time they need: washing hands and wiping the sweet sugary slime from the mouth.
After an eternal hour, tropical woods awaken and the pale incense, which finally sets a transformation in the scene. And just as quickly, the red woven curtains close.

Oh God, I am full of sadness . . .
I lie there by the roadside, exhausted -
Above me the dark cold night -
And I already count among the dead long buried -