A Bird Chained to Land

I used to have wings, brilliant and prideful.
I would dance in the sky, dancing with the clouds and spinning with the wind.
Round and round, the lightning and I would go, our twists and turns matching the beat of the thunder that would shake the sky and chill us to our bones.
What beautiful days those were.
Now my wings are dull and shredded, torn.
Ruined by the people who cast me a freak.
Once a vibrant white, now a dull and shredded gray.
Laying limp in the green grass that brags about the sun that shines on it.
My wings wear me down, dragging behind me as a reminder about my fall.
The sky is lonely, the clouds and lightning have no one to dance with.
They weep and sob for a partner to join them.
The wind has no one to spin round with them.
The thunder no longer shakes the sky as hard; it's beat now shallow and emotionless.
My wings are nothing to boast about.
I can no longer fly.