A Pome a Day for a Year

I have never been, never will,
but I am there eternally.
Sun rises and falls,
over mountains
I shall never lay eyes upon,
yet I see the clearest outline
of peaks and troughs,
rocks static and grey,
commanding an army of ghosts.

The people of Asheville,
have never heard of me,
yet they cannot resist speaking
of times we grew, lamenting
of choices I made.
They gnash teeth on occasion,
anger etches like the thorns
of a rose, my petals pulled
never to flower.