In The Pink Room... (Inspired By David Lynch) Poem by DM W

In the pink room, Lola was bathed
In fluorescent light. Her toe nails
Were painted blue. Lying naked
On white, satin sheets, X- rated,
Her smooth, sun tanned body looked so
Divine! Her pert breasts how they glowed!
An inviting smile was fixed upon
Her face always. Like a trained dog,
She seemed prepared to jump through any
Hoop to achieve fleeting dreams.
Spellbound, hypnotised, he soon bought
Into the highly contrived thought
That she was a modern Venus,
But now he know that's meaningless,
Because her performance was fake.
Some jumped up pimp was on the make,
As voyeurism is the norm,
And Love has been replaced by porn.
Ubiquitous screens now reveal
Scenes that were private and concealed,
Not many decades ago. Vice
Corrodes all virtues in these times
When anything goes. Moral codes
Are out. Most just go with the flow.
Yet deep- seated Catholic guilt,
Pricks his conscience, and he admits
That the old order was stable,
Compared to crass, neo fables.
Someone so much wiser than he
Once quipped these apt words poignantly:
'Beauty is the splendour of Truth,
And not the debasement of youth.'