My stock of bits and pieces
Of which my special place exists
In a universe of quanta
Where once filed I must persist
A clump of data information
Impacting where I once
Occupied a short reality
In the tiniest of chunks
On the cusp, I must perpetually
Hold a signal back in time
Only speaking if when spoken to
On a shelf-stack hard to climb
What will I do forever there
Amid the crowds of many courses
To one day find myself again
Among the universal sources
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