The painting "The Wild Hunt of Odin" by Peter Nicolai Arbo (1831-1892)

Is it fair to credit so much of the terrible acts 
of great men to them alone?

Is the man at the fore a wolf so separate from the sheep
when the shared blood of a nation boils together?
Is he not merely the tallest drop in a fervent wave?
A conductor at best, more a lightning rod, 
a mouthpiece possessed by some roused all-father spirit 
that slumbers in the country’s hearts

We deserve the leaders we permit and institute
pretending to sacrifice ourselves at their altar
– purely performative – 
instead sacrificing them like sheep
once we quench our bloodthirsts
(our selves now absolved)

Until that dark spirit fills us again and another is chosen