Not as yet yclept...

A whisper,
A rumor
That floats around
With resounding quietness.
Speaking volumes with its silence.
The intent does not matter,
It is full of malice.
It is camouflage,
A thing of anonymity.
Hidden things,
Things that move.
Swirl around and around.
Clutch onto identity,
Never let go,
Or let it show.
Hide
Behind your secrets.
Let them protect you.