Tomorrow's story is about Arthur Kiyaga and some of the things he does away from the rink. He writes poetry and I think his work is brilliant. As a writer, I'm a little jealous. LOL. Seriously, the hardest part of this story was picking which of his pieces to share with you.
The primary target of this undertaking was initiated to articulate my mental activity in a way which would
allow others to formulate thoughts of their own. Those knowing me well may be alarmed as they explore the following pages because this publication mirrors a reflection of me that is distant in the eyes of many. Some of the expressed opinions and phrases aren't total portrayals of the individual I represent, but instead are snapshots of controversial observations which have arisen spontaneously. There have and will continue to be many inquiries surrounding the chosen title. Just like any other ism, ``Kiyaga-ism'' encapsulates a diminutive canvas of the theories and ideologies echoing within my personality. What started out as a tedious habit to help pass time on my long hockey road trips, escalated into what is now being held in your hands. Having a photo shoot, album and athletic career under my belt, I'm now focused on the academic aspect of my life. With that, I'd like to officially invite you
to ``Kiyaga-ism: “Poetry with a lil' twist!”
Please Open Your Gates
It's said to be the most historically
accurate book to date
Yet it has managed to put today's
youth in a confused mind of state
As my eyes run through your pages in
search of light
They're fatigued like running up a
mountain without a peak in sight
Marx said it's for those who can't
handle the immediate pressures
They close their eyes to reality in
seeking spiritual pleasures
All the different colours of your
religious teachings
Make me question the hue of Sunday
morning preachings
Each Mormon, Nun and Jehovah Witness
All claiming to be the best in the
business
Make me feel like a highly touted
prospect
Yet all the doorstep offers make me
loose respect
Every belief seems to downgrade their
“competition”
In hopes of persuading my spiritual
decisions
Besides births, medical survivals and
natural disasters
You're only portrayed through
scripture and devoted pastors
The classification of religious is
broadened every year
The major component of its glue relies
solely on fear
Whenever there's a blind man trying to
find his way
People turn a blind eye and carry on
with their day
They may want to help but don't sense
an obligation
They'll wade in a pool of guilt
through further observation
You've always said your word possesses
the power to divide
And regardless of inner strength our
feelings will collide
If at a high school party I started
praying how I knew
I'd single handedly split the entire
room into two
But every single creation has some
type of creator
Just like every successful person is
ensued by haters
Yes, I've tried (BLEEP) and been
caught by nine eleven
But Lord I'm here and need the
combination to heaven
Sitting On The Fence
Friends half his complexion question
his direction
They say he's white, though the
mirror shows a black reflection
Like a Michelangelo portrait, he's
just been framed
Rather than solely being
pigmentation, his actions are to blame
Never visited, slept or been locked
in a prison
But they want to lock and blind the windows
of his visions
He's constantly asked if he's seen a
gun firsthand
When Yale and Harvard, not jail, are
his plans
It's got him looking around rather
than within
He'll act double black just to fit in
The handcuffs on his wrists can't
contain his goals
