I revised Low Tide. It was written in Roanoke during Festival in the Park, I think when I was a freshman in high school

Low Tide
The night was beginning its reign
The only light starting to show were the stars
And the fiery red cherries on cigarettes
Providing a cloud of smoke
Which stood above couples sitting on blankets
The stench of love and hate was in the air
For this small southern town still segregated by race
The show was free

There was a jazz band on stage dishing out their hopes and fears
Spoon feeding the crowd like babies in a high chair
With every new note it was a wound being healed
It was like the music was saying, “yeah I’ve been there.”

I was entranced with every piercing melody

The trumpet reached new heights
Of dissolute paradise
The saxophone bled contentment
And the manic drums, piano, and bass
Brought back the past like a slap in the face

The jazz band kept playing
And I couldn’t catch up
Then suddenly STOP
The members on stage smiled at each other
With a deep breath
There was a sound of a lone cymbal
A wave of horns started to build
As it peaked they roared
Engulfing me with everything that was clear
Finally it broke and carried me away