Caesar complained to Brutus about this pointy thing

Not a spin, I’m sharper still, I sound myself with every kill. Can you bend me to your will?

I'm molded by hand, yet have no form. From earth I arise, through sun and storm. Pottery's my destiny, a vessel to be, Or sculpture's embrace, for all eyes to see. What am I?

What is made of wood but no saw on earth is sharp enough to cut?

I guard a realm with a single eye, No twin to share the watchful sky. A hero once left me fooled and blind, By naming Nobody and thus I lost my mind.