Bringing Up the Past (Poem)

Artifacts from old days,
from something long expired.
That day we spent in the mountains,
we began to fight towards our own end.

An arrowhead from June,
saw it shining in the frost
but couldn't leave it well alone.
I've broke your skin with its sharp edge.

Trudging through the river,
found a glint of shining gold.
Bent down into the murky water.
What was beautiful has now been fowled.

Treasures from long ago,
lights at ends of tunnels
still lighting our way home
and fucking up our goals.