there is a certain kind of clamor,

there is a certain kind of clamor,
easily by most but not all,
misjudged (surely it is gall)
as something of a simple glamor—

wicked whisperings shouted,
unnoticed and left doubted;
the trailing glimmers of fire
false-kindles false-desire—

outcasted, trifle of afterthought and silence—
begone your wily ways won’t work in here!