Answer:
I am round as a bowl, deep as a tub, but all the world's water couldn't fill me up.
I crawl on the earth. And rise on a pillar.
White bird, featherless, flying out of paradise. Flying over sea and land. Dying in my hand.
Upon me you can tread, though softly under cover. And I will take you places, that you have yet to discover. I'm high, and I'm low, though flat in the middle. And though a joy to the children, adults think of me little.
With pointed fangs it sits in wait. With piercing force it doles out fate, over bloodless victims proclaiming its might. Eternally joining in a single bite.
All about, but cannot be seen, Can be captured, cannot be held, No throat, but can be heard. Who am I?