A Turning Point
He rose from suburbs, not with silver spoons
But with words, with passion, younger heart that loomed
A seed in 2012, fed by dreaming winds—
Turning Point USA, where youth’s voice begins.
He walked across campuses, held debates with fire,
“Prove me wrong,” he’d challenge—stoking young desire
For free markets, limited rule, for tradition’s claim,
He built a crowd, a movement, not in simple fame.
Books were penned, lectures given, conviction in his tone,
From podcast, to rallies strong, to calls that shook the throne
Of academic walls he’d pass, he asked the questions few dared ask,
Standing firm in controversy, accepting every task.
He married Erika, children came—two souls to carry forth
His laughter, faith, his Christian roots, though winds of change set course.
But fate, abrupt as thunder, struck at a stage not far from home,
On campus soil, in open air—his voice would cease to roam.
Shot in the neck, at speaking event, where ideas clashed and hearts were loud,
A young man—31—laid down amid the tent, before the crowd.
Legendary, some would call him once he lay still in that light,
A voice of youth, of fiery truth, snuffed by violent night.
Yet what he built will not so easily fall to dust or fade,
Turning Point’s torch, the voices raised, the history he made.
We mourn a life cut short, a voice that would not spare
Cadence in social struggle, a spark in open air.
May memory preserve his fervor, may grief stir us to see
That in the hush of tragedy, some truths still dare to be.
Keith
