I Wrote a Limerick?

Yellow kitten orange hair,
Question of why skin so bare.
Around the neck a baby lies,
Swift kick to stop before kitty dies.
Meet Ginger's gaze only if you dare.

God

I can only think of a god so true that all reality rings out with its falseness. The mind is so pure and the world so foul that a great schism exists between the two. How can the god of the mind be the god of what we actually see? This is where the problem lies: What we dream of as perfect cannot be. So what then supplants out dreams? It must be something greater than ourselves and our world.