Me the mariner in your ocean

I am an ancient mariner,
Seeking lands unknown,
Your palm holds the map,
Inscrutable, yet to be shown.
You're an atlas, a mystery,
Hiding maritime ways of old,
No compass to guide me,
No stars to light my bold.
You are the continent,
Unexplored, waiting to be found,
Pangaea, Panthalassa,
Whirlpool, and volcano surround.
Silent echoes fill the air,
Waves crash upon the sand,
"Go beyond the creases,"
I hear, "I'm not paper in your hand."
Navigating, you warn,
"Watch for rocks, sands, and marsh,
Or they may swallow you whole,
In unknown lands harsh."
Alone in the vast sea,
With the albatross around my neck,
I search for you, my map,
Which I cannot seem to detect.
Seven days, seven nights,
I wander in search of you,
The continent that you are,
Still unknown, yet so true.
The albatross falls away,
And I finally see you clear,
An ocean so calm and serene,
Without turbulence or fear.
 
*Coleridge’s ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’