Other Voices, Other Rooms

by John Herlihy

In each of us, there are others we do not know;

In each of us, others who make themselves known.

The contrary one who disagrees with what we say,

The willful one who wishes to find another way.

The doubtful one who never seems quite sure,

The hopeful one who seeks all things pure.

The negative one who doesn't always with you agree,

The playful one who always presents you with mystery.

The witness who observes everything that you do,

The lawyer who questions everything that you knew.

The vigilant one who helps me remember,

The ardent one who whispers to me tender.

The respectful one who genuflect with a bow,

The disrespectful one who knows not how to kowtow.

Who the eye who meets all those wayward others,

That we have to deal with as if they were brothers.

We listen to all of them and each one has a say,

The soulful one, eye of the I, should have its way.

All the creative ideas that I claim as mine,

All the tempting suggestions others claim as thine.

Who are these inhabitants that live inside my skin,

Who these rogue voices drawn from some dusty bin.

I always listen with the sense of dumb trust,

All the words spoken to me like bread crust.

Other voices wishing to create another self,

The real self sits lonely on the mind’s upper shelf.

All these other voices sitting on a wire like pigeons,

Pleading, tempting, controlling all these other regions.

All those other voices who live in my inner rooms,

Places always swept clean by their trusty brooms,

Other voices in other room, how insistent their drummin’,

The one true voice, the only voice, that I need to summon.

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Copyright © John Herlihy

Saturday 25 October 2025