Answer:
I am black within and red without With four corners round about.
I drive men mad for love of me, easily beaten, never free. What am I?
I march before armies, a thousand salute me. My fall can bring victory, but no one would shoot me. What am I?
What is harder to catch the faster you run?
Born of sorrow, grows with age, you need a lot to be a sage. What is it?
What do you purposefully put lots of in and on your body, but run away from when you encounter it outside?