The Cure for Consumption

a poem about consumerism

Photo by Gage Walker on Unsplash

To consume 
without satisfaction
is to eat for the sake of craving,
to buy for the sake of wanting,
to look for the sake of searching,
to scroll in the hope of waking from 
that stupor of consumption:
the wasting disease that wants more, 
the more it gets.

It is a disease that tries
making bricks without straw.
It turns rivers into rocks
and robs a parched man
of the ability to drink while
he stands in the rain,
face Heavenward, lips sealed.

He'll soon turn to stone standing there 
looking but never finding,
buying but never having,
scrolling but never seeing.
His appetite whet
by the things pointing
to their maker,
the one who fashioned men's appetites
and strength and vision.
 
One glimpse at this God 
would quench his thirst,
would overflow his capacity
and wake all his senses to goodness.
But the God he wants 
he fears will ask for everything.
So, he does not look.
He does not kneel,
and thus, consumption
consumes him.

Be not that man forever thirsty,
forever avoiding the God who wants you
as much as you need him.
Rather, be the man of courage
who gives up all
for that glimpse behind the veil now,
and, in eternity, entry
into the very presence of God:
the cure for our consumption.