This poem came out of the August 7, 2012 Poetry Fishbowl.  It was inspired by a prompt from wyld_dandelyon regarding the recent shooting of Sikhs in Oak Creek.  It has been sponsored by the general fund.

The myths we tell create the world we live in.

If we tell myths full of hatred,
they will fill our lives with blood.
It is like spinning wool full of nettles and thorns;
the sharp stems will prick unwary fingers.

This is how it came to be that someone
walked into a Sikh temple and opened fire:
hatred becomes routine, becomes unremarkable,
and then people are surprised when it blossoms into bloodshed.

If we tell myths full of tolerance,
they will fill our lives with peace.
It is like spinning drifts of pure clean wool;
the lanolin will soak into the skin and make it just as soft.

This is how it came to be that someone
who made crosses after tragedies
came to make wreaths for the Sikh victims
and to hold an interfaith vigil in their memory.

Art imitates life.  Life imitates art.
Myth is the collective subconscious
from which all is drawn and into which all returns.
It is up to us to change what we would not continue.

The world we live in creates the myths we tell.