You are always asking me

You are always asking me
Why I believe,
And when I tell you
You are displeased.
You ask me to explain
The very core of my being,
And you are irritated when I falter –
Unable to tell
Of spacious endings and beginnings;
Of the light which my eyes
Are yet learning to see,
In speech you would understand.

How can I tell you
Of the grandeur of the idea;
Of unity
And the truth that is in all things?
Your mind says, That is a lie,
You have no proof.
And my heart says, I know.