Traditions or Crumbling Citadels

Old buildings crumble, come to ruin,
Strong fortresses, too, can never win
A fight against Time's gentle push
And end in rubble, end in the bush.

Great cities lie buried and gone
While Time marches, steadily on
Strong and meek all fall one day
While, wordlessly, Time has its say.

Yes, Time, the silent maker and the wordless breaker keeps doing its thing - moulding, remoulding, shaping and changing. We have all grown so used to it, we hardly ever notice. Residents of old buildings leave, sometimes by choice and often by necessity. Guardians of old citadels and fortresses, too, see the fall of those mighty structures, less to sworn enemies and more to unseen time. Slowly, one by one, they desert their fortresses, citadels and cities, defeated by unseen hands, unable to fight a losing war. Their pride crumbles as the mortar disengages and the stones and bricks reduce to dust.

We have all seen this...and taken it all for granted. But, is it only buildings and people, trees and matter that crumble in this fashion? What about ideas - old ideas and cultures - old cultures and traditions? Don't they crumble similarly? Why, then, do we take refuge in in those old crumbling, citadels of culture in the name of tradition or custom? Why must our actions be dictated to by rules and beliefs that were created hundreds and thousands of years ago?

We build new houses and apartments to shelter our bodies, new structures to work in and gain inspiration from but what of our ideas, our thoughts and beliefs? Why are we reluctant and fearful of building new citadels of culture or tradition, citadels that will surely crumble in the future but for now, will suffice?