If there is no hope would there be any sense in life?

What
is left for us to do? Should we escape or face the nothingness of
meaning head-on? Or should we just let things be what they are
and ignore every circumstance? The persona of the poem is
overwhelmed with despair and grief throughout life that resulted
in the denial of her own identity, her human capability. She
tries to hold on to her faith and well-being but at the end of
the day, it seems it is only illusory. Although she tries to
enchant herself in a dream, reality always destroys it. There is
no one to blame but the horizons she lives in. she has lost trust
from the men in her world who she thought were the hope she could
hold on to. The shame and sorrow leads her to a downward spiral
that ultimately led to her own destruction. Although she tried to
kill the ghosts of her past, it always seems to haunt her and
assimilate despair in her. With nowhere to run and nowhere to
hide and no one to turn to, she chose the path of self-
destruction. The world, the persona realized, turned out to be
something where selfish evil hearts resides, where fingers have
no purpose than to pull triggers and men’s souls worship only the
god of tragedy.

This poem’s writer seems to implicitly narrate using

metaphors the tragedy of her own life. What drove her to the
suicidal path was not only because of her self-pity and blind
innocence but because of her childhood experiences, which the
author implies. What could be grasped by the readers from this
piece is that her experience as spouse and as a child was no
different. Probably what drove her to kill herself was the fact
that her husband was unfaithful and implicitly so was her father.
The pain she felt impelled her to the point of losing her own
identity and relating it to the Jewish experience during the
Holocaust.

With accordance to the question whether poetry is

confessional in nature, the answer would be that it is not
entirely so. Although poetry is a reflection of natural
phenomena, the way it resents its message is, however, far from
it. The writer depicts her experiences as if she was a Jewish
refugee at the time of Hitler and yet she is an American. Poetry
is not entirely literal. The devices used in it are far from the
main purpose of its writing. A poem is not a poem if it presents
its content in absolute evidence and clarity. It is a
manipulation of facts and molds it in to something either
dreadful or desirable. A poem is like a dream. The beauty of it
is that it is a fantasy, once we wake up, we cannot return to it.
Looking at the poem by Sylvia Plath, we could deduce that poetry
is not reality. The message is painted with enchanting and morbid
words that the history of why it was written was concealed. We,
the readers, become lavished in some sort of sweet poison that we
become entranced as we read. The point of why it was written
becomes implied rather than explicated.