Sonnet to the older gentlemen

Who stares after me with eyes full of enmity.
You presume to judge the shape I’m in
skipping the burden we carry in common.
Whispering the words of a worthless enemy
spreading rumor stoking private controversy.
Must you condemn everyone else so often?
Make your point or risk being forgotten.
Who can stand to help out of your emnity?
Sitting in judgement before I could begin.
Painting a picture, of lives steeped in sin.
Plowing moral ground as a spectral omen
falling from a father to a fickle old fiend.
Making a point to share your mean,
leaving behind a startled muted scene.