Dismay

Hello, Stranger.

I've seen your face before, though what it hides, I no longer know. Nor want to know.

I make no claims to your predilection, your desires, or your needs. I have no interest in your ambitions or accomplishments. All you have that piques my interest, is a subtle ripple in my web.
You are animate in your examinations, and you have such vigour when you think you're right.

But imagine the future, that burning, bright end of times. And imagine yourself in it. Will you bask? Or will you burn? Are you assured in your position, or will you jostle, fight, and rave?

Do you see yourself there? Or are you like me, and see everyone else as they shall be, but our own lot, strangely missing?

What is it that you see, Stranger? And does it dismay you?