My Harp

I sit here
Hugging my harp
As her silent words fill the room.
Others look
And see a hollow nothingness
Inside her,
But I see
The path where imagination walks.

She may be
Scratched up and dented,
But I can see past
All that
Deep inside
Where music waits
To be played.

As I sit here
Hugging my harp,
I feel cozy
Even though the wood is cold as ice.
The teacher talks,
The students chatter,
But all I hear
Is the beautiful silent words
of my harp.