Fighting Discontent with Content

The impulse of an uncanny soul
Is to look for places to be full
Thus the eyes and hands conspire
To play rectangle stuff for hire
Upon the finding of the new
Cud in mind we constant chew 
Grassy fields that ever grow
Addicted to the sense of know
Stimulation for the sense
That naught will pass of interest hence
So it's silence that will end
As every sense the content rends