Being green

Evil witches live for the dead, bringing them and their company souls.
And this one veteran is no different, as our story shall behold.
Jasper boils a bubbling shade, mixing with the mist.
With envy rumbles poison green, a pulsating oozing cyst.
Snakes by the thousand dead but potent, lie in barrels of killer toxin.
Soak Jaspers brew of toxic slime, giving life to reptiles once alive.
Once complete a witche's cackle fills the room with glee
As she houls and fills the room with vicious poetry:
On his body flames shall feed, the poison yearns for those long dead.
Burn the legs burn the hands burn the clothes, to flames this man
Not a piece shall be left not a bone will be spared.
Bury the ashes for before too long, the poison shall infect again.

John runs in marshes olive green, frolics plays lurks evil unseen.
Waits Jaspers brew of toxic slime, held inside Satan's reptile.
Viper venom cunning burns, like fire now death is coming.
Once a man now slowing fading, poisoned veins his life now ending.
Sickly father crying mother dying child, hardly breathing.
Screaming doctors wailing nurses cold as ice, his pulse conceding
On his body flames shall feed, the poison yearns for those long dead.
Burn the legs burn the hands burn the clothes, to flames this man.
Not a piece shall be left not a bone will be spared.
Bury the ashes for before too long, the poison shall infect again.
A while passed, two moons or three the venom leaves johns urn; set free
Searches for the next in line, meant to die before his time.
Jacob passes marshes olive green, kicking leaves in anger.
Under whom the evil lie, awaiting human blunder.
Soon the tale is spun again and Jacob wins a one trip slip, the other side awaits.
Through terrible torture and reason none,
A soul claimed no chance for fair debate.
On his body flames shall feed, the poison yearns for those long dead.
Burn the legs burn the hands burn the clothes, to flames this man.
Not a piece shall be left not a bone will be spared.
Bury the ashes for before too long, the poison shall infect again.

Bishop Francisco, loved by all, is summoned to the court.

And after long internal discourse, wonders of his journey's worth.
"Is crossing marshes laced with death a travel to consider?"
"Was all the trouble worth it when pain is man's worst fear?"
"Not any death but torture a hell on earth one would say"
"But it's the king and death will always come"
Then he was on his way.
On his body flames shall feed, the poison yearns for those long dead.
Burn the legs burn the hands burn the clothes, to flames this man.
Not a piece shall be left not a bone will be spared.
Bury the ashes for before too long, the poison shall infect again.
Green with envy;
Green and toxic;
Green and wanting more;
Fleeing pray, almighty may, look down and see his poor.
Not fast enough, old mothers, fathers, failing one by one.
Pointless running the aged falling,
"Run old man they are coming"
Kicking, pushing, neighing, braying,
"gallop girl they are coming"
Children flee as parents fall to half dead men who rule the world And Harvest heads whose
minds stay fresh.
Turning stomachs curdling screams run little ones the end is coming