As we started to sail by stars (navigation?)
we didn’t know our journey would be mapped across the sky.
Houses dammed us to warmed, wintered ground (Houses in the winter are usually thought good... interesting that you say we are "damned" to warmed ground.)
and as steam learnt to break ice trails under northern skies, (further technology, steam power?)
dark became her soul. ("Her" soul becomes darker with each sign of man's progress?)
The strongest mounted her
until her body arched against chains,
her cry to us - fevered,
for razor-studded boots
to feed scars
on her cover-girl-beauty,
tamed. (This section made me think "she" was the earth, scarred by man's progress.)
Or, at least, we convinced ourselves vanity was her cry.
We didn't see
his little life lived there on broken causeways,
how she counted shadows around him (Poignant)
to try and distract him from days of no thoughts.
Only he’d lost the will to count. (Ooh, who's "he" now?)
So she made autumn’s coat fall to keep him warm,
only he cringed away from her touch on his broken skin. (Now I think "he" is the Earth, and perhaps "she" is weather.)
Then she drove summer to thirst (droughts?)
to keep night’s mares at bay,
only night had long since lost the will to leash his monsters.
When she saw all attempts to warm his wintered life had failed,
she cried. (This mention of warming winter recalls the other mention, only that one was "damnation" for us, and this one is what she wants for him. Confused. Will keep reading...)
People passed on by,
so violent winds tried to voice his silent screams. (People ignored drastic wether changes, so windstorms blew up?)
Now dark has become her soul.
She cries her fury
as any mother would; ("Mother Nature"?)
ignoring her scars
she defending her child
from the pick-axe blows
man’s kind-less ("Kind-less" as in "lacking kindness", and "without kind or peer". I.e. No-one else is this cruel to the earth.)